Serendipity
by SolarCat
Summary: [HPDM slash] Strange dreams and the arrival of Draco Malfoy on his doorstep send Harry's sixth year spinning in a direction he never expected. At long last, Chapter 30! Please forgive the wait, and leave a Review!
1. A Strange Dream

A/N: Here is all the warnings you're gonna get for this fic, unless something comes up in later chapters that I need to add:

1. This is HPDM slash. That means, for all you little kiddies out there who haven't read this before, that it may at some future point involve boy/boy lovin'. If you can't deal with that, I suggest you leave now.

2. This is not a PWP. I HATE fics where someone turns around and suddenly everyone is in bed together. I'm trying to make an enjoyable but reasonably plausible story, here. That said, don't expect sex in chapter two. Got it? Good. On the same note, there may be NC-17 content at some point. If there is, I will kindly direct you to my website for any lemon, and leave an edited version of any such chapters here. It is up to you to decide if you wish to read it, and I expect that you will do me the courtesy of not flaming me for your own stupidity. Thank you.

3. Draco is a bit out of character for a while (wouldn't you be? oh, wait, you haven't read it yet. nm.), please forgive this. I hope that any and all of his actions will be shown reasonable soon enough.

4. Anything in this that does not follow the books or movies (I've sort of merged them to form a giant 'Harry Potter combined reality' in my head and in this fic) is to be considered intentional AU-ness, unless it's something really stupid, in which case, please leave me a review, tell me I'm an idiot, and help me make the story better for everybody. These sorts of things involve character traits (like if I say Draco's hair is black, which I never would, but it's an example), etc.

5. The Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, much as I wish I did, because I'd be so incredibly rich right now. I'd also own Draco all to myself, but that's beside the point.

Thank you for suffering through these notes, and please enjoy the story! I've worked really hard on it, and it is my first HP fic, so any feedback would be muchly appreciated!

SolarCat

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Chapter I – A Strange Dream

There was a girl, lying in a field of daisies. Harry shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes even more so than usual as he did so. He was certain that, last time he had checked, there were no large fields of daisies anywhere near Privet Drive. But here he was, looking a ways into the distance at the girl. She had on a red dress, and a large straw hat. He swore he had seen her before, somewhere...

'That's it. It's the painting!' He had seen a print of a girl lying in a field in a book Hermione had forced him to read, something about "brushing up on the fine points of Muggle culture". But as far as he could remember, the field hadn't contained a single daisy.

"This must be a dream" he commented aloud. The girl turned to look at him. She was quite pretty. The dark hair of the girl in the original had been replaced by a lighter blonde shade, and she had eyes the color of sunlight on the ocean, deep blue lined with gold. Harry took a step backward. The girl stood and faced him, taking off her hat and letting it fly away on a sudden breeze. She regarded him seriously, seeming to study every inch of him in detail. Harry gulped. He had never felt quite so exposed as he did at that moment, like every one of his secrets was laid out on display for all the world to see. He felt his legs collapse under him, and fell down to land softly on a bed of grass and soft flowers. The girl smiled at him, and he shivered. The smile was kind, but something about her was making him feel decidedly uncomfortable. He nearly screamed when she spoke. Her voice was wild, resonating with a depth that her form did not imply. It was a voice that had seen thousands of years, millions of births, millions of deaths. Wars, plagues, famines, and all the horrors of man. It was a voice that commanded, and was obeyed.

"Harry James Potter." The words were simple, but he felt suddenly as though his own voice was unworthy of his name. As if, should he ever dare to speak the words again, he would defile them. He was fairly certain his brain was shutting down. He nodded. The girl smiled at him again. When she next spoke, she toned down her voice, not allowing its full resonance to escape. Harry found himself able to breathe again.

"I thought I would be seeing you soon." There was a laugh in her voice, as though the occurrence was some monstrous joke that he wouldn't be able to fathom were he given a hundred lifetimes. Harry gulped nervously. It was his experience that mysterious figures were, more often than not, attempting to kill him.

"I have no desire to kill you." Harry's eyes widened. If she could read his mind, who knew what else this strange spectre could do? He found himself scrambling backward in fear. "I will not harm you. If I know your thoughts, it is because you display them so readily. I will make this visit short, as my appearance seems to have disturbed you."

The girl offered him a hand, which he found himself taking despite his brain's constant warnings that it could be the last thing he ever did, and gently lifted him to his feet. "Not every death is permanent, Harry. But life must be paid for with life. No, no, you mistake me."

The look of utter panic on Harry's face caused her to laugh, a laugh which sounded remarkably like the little-girl laugh one would have expected from such a figure. "I do not mean to say that life must be sacrificed in order to pay for another." She sighed. "That's where so many have gone so wrong. Life cannot be bought with death. But it can be bought with more life. Do you understand, Harry?"

He shook his head slowly. None of this made any sense. But the girl didn't see. She was staring off across the field. Harry turned to look, but saw nothing. When he turned back, she was regarding him again. "You have a chance. What was lost can be found again, if one knows where to look. Now, then, Harry..." she paused to pick a daisy and handed it to him. "Time to wake up. I believe you have a visitor."

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So; like? hate? Please give me feedback. On second thought, don't. Go read Chapter II first, then give feedback, since you need to get into the story to have any idea where I'm going... Oh, never mind. I'm not even sure where I'm going...

Chapters will be uploaded when I feel like it, which means basically when I feel I've gotten far enough ahead that, should I get writer's block, I won't make my fanbase too angry #looks for fanbase, hears crickets chirping. Alas.#


	2. An Unusual Guest

Chapter II – An Unusual Guest

Harry shot straight up in bed, his hand automatically rising to his scar. He realized seconds later that it didn't hurt. It didn't even itch. He looked at his hand wonderingly, as if it would somehow give him an explanation about his strange dream. 'Visitor...' The girl had said something about a visitor, hadn't she? Harry kicked off his blankets and lowered himself to the floor, being careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards as he made his way to the window of his dingy little room. It had been made far more livable by the addition of a Chudley Cannons poster that Ron had given him for Christmas, but it was still in the Dursley's home, and that made it one of Harry's least favorite places on earth.

A look outside revealed nothing. Normally, his visitors arrived through magical means, and usually came directly to his window. For a moment Harry considered the notion that it had been merely a dream. Everyone had strange dreams every now and then, and his scar hadn't hurt, which he took to mean that the dream had nothing to do with Voldemort. 'Maybe it was just a dream...' Harry thought, pondering the notion some more. But still, he reasoned, it wouldn't hurt to check. Perhaps the dream had been sent by someone in the Order, though he wondered why they would send him dreams instead of coming to talk to him directly.

Cautiously, Harry made his way down the hall and stairs and to the front door of 4 Privet Drive. He opened it just a crack and cautiously looked out. He couldn't see anything. Slowly, he opened the door further, placing a hand on the wand that was tucked into the waistband of his pajamas. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he spotted the figure propped up in the corner of the Dursley's small porch, leaning against the wall with wand in hand, and looking up at him with the best look of annoyance that someone who had been beaten to a pulp could muster.

"Hello, Potter." Draco Malfoy managed to get out, sounding more tired than Harry had ever heard him. Of course, he was also looking much more bruised than Harry had ever seen him as well. Harry gaped at him for a moment. Draco's normally pristine clothes were in shreds, and the pale, luminescent skin of his upper torso was almost completely black and blue, with some purple thrown in for good measure. His lip was split and bleeding, and there was a cut on his upper forehead that was matting his blonde hair with blood. Harry couldn't see much else in the dim light, but he was sure, based on the blood he saw on the other boy's clothing, that he probably had more open wounds elsewhere as well.

Draco waited patiently for Harry to finish looking over him, then coughed experimentally. He determined that it would Bad Idea to do it again in the near future. "If you're through gawking," he croaked, his voice cracking slightly, "You could invite me in. It would only be polite." Harry chuckled a little. Even when he looked like he had been put through a meat grinder, Draco was still capable of being rude and obnoxious.

"Well, it's good to know you're an annoying git all the time." Harry commented, kneeling down beside the other boy. "Here." He looped Draco's arm around his shoulders, then slipped his own behind the blonde's back, supporting most of Draco's weight as he helped him to stand. "Is that alright? Do you think you can make it up the stairs?" Draco nodded hesitantly, then rethought himself.

"Of course I can make it up the stairs, Potter. Does it look like my legs are broken?" Harry assumed that the statement was supposed to be in Draco's ordinary snotty tone, but, if the bruises on his throat were any indication, he wouldn't sound normal for several hours, maybe even days. But he didn't think Draco would want to hear that.

"Right, of course." Harry agreed amicably, still supporting most of their combined weight. Draco winced as they set off, pulling his body away from Harry's. Harry stopped. "Something wrong?" Draco shook his head.

"Nothing. Just..." Harry looked at him until he continued. "Careful, alright? I think a couple of ribs might be broken." Harry nodded, giving him a sympathetic smile.

"Come on. Once we get you upstairs, I'll get those cuts cleaned out." They began walking again, slowly, so as not to jar Draco's ribs or put too much pressure on already-damaged flesh. They had to stop several times on the way, but eventually the pair made their way back up to Harry's dingy little bedroom. Draco looked around in astonishment.

"You LIVE here?" He croaked out, apparently horrified at the conditions. Harry personally didn't think his room was all that bad. There were a few t-shirts on the floor and it might have needed a little dusting, but it was far from deserving of the horror in Draco's voice.

"Yes, and?" He answered impatiently, wondering why he was putting up with complaints from a boy who had not only tormented him for five years, but had also shown up in the middle of the night beaten to a pulp and expecting help.

"It's.... tiny." Draco finally decided, his voice still scratchy and uneven. Harry sighed. He could imagine what Draco would've thought of his old "room" beneath the stairs.

"It works. C'mon. Sit down here." Harry maneuvered Draco down to sit on his bed, leaning against the headboard and the wall so that he could see the entire room. "Comfy?" He asked with a smirk. Draco glared at him, but didn't say anything. "I'll go get the first aid kit. Wait here, I'll be right back."

"Where exactly would I go, Potter?" Draco drawled, or at least tried to, as Harry walked out the door, apparently headed to the bathroom that they had passed as they came up the hallway. Left alone, Draco took another look around the room. Harry's small desk was piled with schoolbooks, summer homework assignments, and a stack of books about Quidditch that Draco thought he might have a look at later. Harry's school trunk was tucked inconspicuously into a corner, which of course made it stand out even more. On the far wall was the Chudley Cannons poster, which Draco regarded with a sneer. There were a few pieces of clothing on the floor, which Draco also viewed with distaste. Of course, he really didn't expect much better, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He could imagine the "welcome" that he would get if he returned to Malfoy Manor. He just thanked his lucky stars that his mother had made him his own account at Gringotts- at least he wasn't homeless and poor.

Finally, Harry returned, carrying with him a small white case with a red plus sign on the side.

"What's that?" Draco snapped, looking on the case with mistrust. Harry looked down at it, then back up at Draco, holding the case up for his inspection.

"This? It's a first aid kit. Haven't you seen one before?" Draco shook his head.

"No. I don't spend much time around Muggles." Even in his ragged state, Draco nearly spat the word. "Besides, our family physician was always on call if something should happen." Harry snorted. He could imagine the Malfoys having their own personal doctor hanging around should one of them break a nail. He down on the bed next to Draco and set the case down between them. Harry looked at Draco for a moment, reexamining his wounds under proper lighting. It was worse than he had thought. There was indeed blood on the remains of Draco's shirt, from the myriad of small but deep cuts on his upper body. They made a criss-crossing pattern of gashes across his ribs and stomach, extending down below his waistline. He was also fairly certain that there was a matching set on Draco's back that he couldn't see with Draco leaning against the wall. Draco watched the expressions that crossed Harry's face with interest. The shock, horror, and disgust all passed, and he was left with a peculiar expression of anger and curiosity.

"Where do you want me to start?" Harry asked cautiously, unsure if his nemesis of the past five years would take kindly to being touched. Draco shrugged, then winced as one of the broken ribs moved.

"I don't care. But can we hurry it up? I think I've lost quite enough blood for one evening." Harry just smiled. Apparently, Draco was unaware of Muggle healing methods, and, as he was being an obnoxious git, it was clearly time to introduce him to peroxide. 'Or maybe not...' Harry looked him over once again, and felt rather guilty about momentarily wishing to cause the boy more pain. 'Well, he has been insufferable for the last five years,' his subconscious filled in, 'You're at least partially entitled.' Harry told his subconscious to shut up.

"Alright," Harry held up a damp washcloth. "Can you sit up for a second if I help you stay upright? I need to clean off the blood so I can see all the cuts." His tone was almost apologetic, and Draco shrugged in response, making an effort to pull himself off the wall. Harry silently slipped a hand behind him again, helping him support his weight so that he could scoot forward on the bed. Draco pulled off the remains of what had once been a rather expensive designer shirt, hissing as it tore open newly-formed scabs. "You okay?" Harry's voice sounded softly behind him. Draco nodded.

"I'm fine. It just twinges a bit." Harry had a hard time believing that so many wounds only 'twinged a bit', but kept quiet about it. Instead, he began to slowly and gently clean the blood off of Draco's back with the damp cloth, which soon became a reddish color. He could feel Draco's muscles twitching as he cleaned the surface of some of the nastier cuts, but the blonde didn't let out a single sound. Harry worked his way over Draco's shoulders, then helped him to shift back on the bed so that he could lean against the wall again.

"Really," Harry commented as he began cleaning the blood from the front of Draco's torso, "I should just run you a bath to get all of this off. But that would wake up my aunt and uncle, and I don't think that's a good idea. So, I'll do the best that I can, but you should really see that doctor once you get back home." Draco looked down at his hands and mumbled something. Harry wiped off the cut on his forehead and the split lip gently, then sat back. "What was that?" He asked, trying not to sound too pushy, but wondering what exactly the blonde had said. Draco looked decidedly nervous.

"Actually, I was wondering..." He looked up at Harry quickly, then averted his eyes again. Harry decided to busy himself in the first aid kit and give the other boy time to answer. He did. "I was wondering... if I might stay here for a while..." The only noticeable reaction on Harry's part was that the small bottle of peroxide slipped from his grasp and onto the bed. Draco looked at him, small lines of worry etched onto his face that he simply didn't have the energy to disguise. Harry gulped, and picked up the peroxide and swabs again.

"Why?" he finally voiced, helping Draco shift so that he could reach his back again. The Slytherin's normally proud head drooped miserably. When he spoke, it was so quiet that Harry had to strain to hear.

"I don't have anywhere else to go." Harry wisely said nothing, just let Draco continue when he felt like it. Eventually he did, and explained what had happened.

"With my father," Draco said the word nearly the same way he usually said 'Muggle', much to Harry's surprise, "in Azkaban, the Dark Lord decided that it was time for a new Malfoy to take his place, but my mother wouldn't hear of it." He knew Harry would be confused, so he clarified after a brief pause. "She was never really a big supporter of His, but she went along with it for my sake, I guess. Father would have been furious if he knew. She never wanted me to join the Death Eaters, and she finally told them so when they came to get me. I think..." Draco's voice caught, and he paused for a moment. "I think she might have been killed." For the first time since they had met, Harry felt a wave of sympathy for the other boy. He knew all too well what it was like to lose loved ones. Harry gave him a reassuring smile, though Draco couldn't see his face.

"It's alright to cry." he offered softly as he wet a swab with the peroxide. Draco stiffened.

"I am not crying." He said testily, though his voice belied his words. Harry nodded, but again, Draco couldn't see.

"I know, but the peroxide can hurt a lot, so I'm just letting you know it's okay to cry a little." After a moment, he nodded slowly. By the time Harry finished applying the peroxide to Draco's cuts, there were tears cascading down the blonde boy's cheeks. Harry was sure that most of them weren't caused by the peroxide, but he just gave the other boy another smile and didn't comment. Draco was glad for that.

"You know this doesn't change anything between you and me." Draco stated as Harry finished dressing the worst of the cuts and covering the more minor ones with liquid skin.

"That's fine." Harry agreed, packing up the first aid kit and returning it to the bathroom quickly. "But you know," He said as he returned, careful not to step on the squeaky floorboard, "That makes you staying here a bit difficult." Draco blinked.

"Am I staying here?" He asked, trying to keep his haughty tone but failing miserably. He was simply too exhausted to even notice that, rather than disdain, his voice was laced with desperate hope. The same desperate hope, Harry realized, that he had felt when he first thought he might get to live with Sirius, several years previously. He felt a pang in his heart at the memory of his godfather, but ignored it for the moment, leaning on the wall beside his bed casually before answering.

"You can if you want to, I suppose. But I'll have to warn you of a few things. First, things can't really stay the same between you and me while you're here. At school, I don't care, but here, well," Harry trailed off and looked at his door with an expression that Draco couldn't read, "Let's just say that my aunt and uncle won't like you very much no matter what, but we can at least stick together." Draco nodded. He didn't exactly understand why they needed to stick together, as he was still under the slightly misguided impression that Harry Potter was treated as a hero by everyone (except the Death Eaters, of course), including his family. It was an assumption that would be altered quite a bit in the days ahead.

"Next, don't talk about magic around my aunt and uncle. Or Dudley, for that matter, unless you have to scare him off a bit." Harry grinned mischievously for a moment. Draco found that it was actually quite a fetching expression on him, and one that he had never seen before. "They don't much like wizards, but they can't hurt us, so don't worry. I have a bit of an... insurance policy, of sorts." The tone in Harry's voice had become so much like a Slytherin's that Draco wasn't sure he was still talking to the same Gryffindor Golden Boy that he'd antagonized for so long. Harry was continuing, though, so Draco tuned back in to what he was saying.

"-anything they tell you, anyway. It makes it a lot easier to get on. And don't complain about the food. I've got plenty of real stuff up here, so just eat it. We'll have real meals up here later on." Draco nodded, though he wasn't really sure if he wanted to stay anymore or not. But, he thought with an internal sigh, there's nowhere else to go. Harry regarded him for a moment, as if trying to make up his mind about something.

"Maybe you should just stay up here for a couple of days, until some of those cuts heal." Harry finally decided. "It would probably be better that way. And I'll have to find some way to explain you in the meantime." Draco nodded again. He could barely understand what Harry was talking about, and his eyelids were beginning to feel much heavier than they should. With a soft sigh, Harry pulled himself off the wall and turned off the lights in his room, then made his way back to his bed. He helped Draco get situated under the covers (which basically meant lifting them up- hurt or not, Draco steadfastly refused to be treated like a child), then climbed under them himself.

"What are you doing?" Draco hissed as Harry lay down. Harry turned over and looked at him.

"What do you mean, 'what am I doing'? I'm going to sleep." Harry closed his eyes, apparently oblivious to Draco's incredulous stare. Finally, he opened them again. "Look," he began forcefully, "we both need to sleep, and, as you can see, this isn't exactly a four star hotel. We either share, or, hurt or not, you're sleeping on the floor." With that, Harry closed his eyes again, this time with abrupt finality. Draco looked at him for a moment, then decided that sharing was, indeed, better than being shoved onto the floor. Even if it was Potter.

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A/N- Ahhh... The beginnings of plot. Isn't it lovely? I think so. Anyway, please give me feedback! I'm trying a different style than I'm used to, and I've never written HP fics before, so this is an entirely new venture, and I really hope that it's going well! Please, PLEASE, push the little 'review' button!


	3. A Different Sort of Morning

A/N: Thank you to my one reviewer, who just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I think it's pathetic that I had to call a friend to get a single review, but whatever. I hope someone is reading this besides just me and you, imouto-chan. #sigh#. Well, here's chapter 3, as ordered. I'll be posting chapter 4 at the same time. Much love, and enjoy!

PS- Here's the shower scene! I told one of my betas that, and she looked all hopeful until she read it. I enjoy tormenting my betas. As is, I think it's still amusing. And anyway, I told you all there wouldn't be any sex yet, and there isn't. Just a little bit of naked!Draco, for all my lovely readers to enjoy. (And Mei-chan, I'm sorry for torturing you so. I love that you love my fic, and thanks for the beta reads! Oh, and Beth-chan, too, even though you don't like slash. You guys are the best!.)

Chapter III – A Different Sort of Morning

Draco woke the next morning to a loud pounding on Harry's bedroom door.

"Up! Get up, you! It's nearly eight! Up!" A shrill voice was yelling from the hallway, but the speaker (or shouter, Draco amended) didn't open the door. Draco turned his head slightly to see that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Would Not Die, was also apparently the Boy Who Would Not Wake Up. He was still snoring lightly, which Draco would have found heartwarming if he was the sort of person who found things like that heartwarming. Scowling, Draco shoved him rudely off the edge of the bed. He landed with a loud thump and a yelp.

"What was that?" The screech came again from the hallway. "You better not be up to any of your, your... tricks in there!" Harry yawned, then sat up and answered the screeching.

"No, Aunt Petunia. I just fell off the bed." Harry's voice sounded bored to Draco's ears. Almost... 'Resigned.' Draco decided, was definitely the word. But resigned to what, he had no idea.

"Well, get up then! You've got the breakfast to make, and the garden needs weeding! Up!" With one last thump on the door, the screecher outside left. Harry scowled up at Draco from his new position on the floor.

"What in the world did you have to knock me off the bed for?" He asked, running a hand through his more-tangled-than-usual hair and beginning a search for his glasses. Draco snorted.

"That ... banshee or whatever it was was pounding on the door, and you were still snoring." This time, it was Harry's turn to snort as he put on his glasses.

"That was my Aunt Petunia. And I'd get used to it if I were you. That's how she wakes me up every morning. She won't come in, though." Harry yawned again and stretched. "How do you feel?" He asked, moving on to less annoying subjects than his normal wake-up call.

Draco paused for a moment, evaluating his condition mentally. "Better, I think. Is there any way that I could take a shower?" Harry nodded, thinking silently to himself for a moment before speaking.

"Probably. But you might not like it." Draco gave him a "look". The "look" that said, 'start explaining, right now'. Harry did. Draco didn't like it.

Ten minutes later, Draco found himself being secreted down the hallway to the Dursleys' upstairs bathroom, leaning on alternatively on Harry or the walls for support. Once they were both inside, Harry shut the door and Draco sat down on the edge of the bathtub gratefully.. He grimaced at the sight of the room.

"I can't believe you can bathe in a room with such hideous wallpaper." He commented, wrinkling his nose at it. Harry fought down a laugh, privately deciding that Malfoy looked much more like a ferret with that expression.

"Well, you get to bathe here too, so, again, get used to it." Harry handed Draco a towel from the bathroom closet and then grabbed one for himself. "You can go first." Draco nodded, and began to remove the bandages that covered a large part of his torso. Some of the minor cuts were healing nicely, he was pleased to note. As he got to removing the dressings on the larger gashes however, he hissed audibly. They had already begun to scab, and pulling the bandages off was painful. Harry fixed him with a worried gaze, standing close by in case he was needed.

Draco thanked whoever had been watching out for him that there were only a few major wounds and bruises. The rest would heal fairly quickly, which was good, because he was getting sick of the other boy's constant attention. The blond boy finished with his stomach, chest and shoulders, then made a small noise and turned his back to Harry. He nodded to himself, getting the message. Silently and gently, he removed the bandages over the wounds on Draco's back, noting for future reference which ones would need more antiseptic and bandages, and which could be handled with the liquid skin. As with the front, there were mercifully few that would need bandaging. When he finished, he stepped back and turned around, facing the door as the blonde Slytherin removed what was left of his trousers and stepped into the shower.

"Alright, Potter, you can turn around now." Draco commented tersely from the shower as he studied the fixtures with interest. There were fewer of them than he was used to, and they were much more rusty than the ones in his own 'anti-rust' spelled bathroom at the Manor (though not too rusty, as Petunia Dursley would not consent to keep a bathroom such a state. Harry was therefore forced to scrub it regularly, but Draco didn't know that). He watched as the shadow that he knew was Harry Potter closed the lid on the toilet and sat down on top of it. "Oi, Potter. How do you work this damn thing?" he threw the fixtures a glare. They were entirely different from his, upon close inspection. Harry chuckled.

"Turn the red one to add hot water, the blue to add cold. You have to play with it a bit to get the temperature right. And make sure you've pushed in the knob for the shower. It's in the middle there." Draco studied the handles with distaste. His own shower at home was spelled to always be the exact temperature that he liked. After checking to see that the middle knob was pushed in, he hesitantly turned the red handle a bit. A slow trickle of water came out of the shower head. He turned it a bit more. The water began coming out faster. Smiling at his success, Draco turned the handle several times, and was rewarded with an invigorating spray of water. 'That wasn't so ha-' Draco's thought was interrupted as the spray suddenly became blindingly hot.

"AHH!" Harry's head snapped up. "Potter! What the hell is wrong with this thing? Shut it off!" Sighing, Harry stood up, wishing briefly that he had cast a silencing charm on the room before starting this, despite the fact that it would have brought the Order crashing down on him in moments.

"What's wrong?" He asked calmly, struggling not to laugh at the fact that Draco Malfoy didn't have a clue how to work a shower.

"It's too bloody hot! I can't even shut the damn thing off!" Harry took a step and opened the shower curtain enough to shut off the water with a flick of his wrist. Draco was huddled at the back of the tub, looking rather put out and quite...

'Naked.' Harry realized, immediately turning an intense shade of red and looking away. It took Draco only another half a second to realize the source of Harry's embarrassment and blush as well.

"Um... We- well, look, this is h-how you do it." Harry stammered, pulling out the 'shower' knob and placing a hand under the spigot. "You just turn both of these bit by bit until the water is the right temperature. Here, just put your hand under here." Harry motioned to the flow of water, carefully not looking in Draco's direction. With a bit of a wince as he lowered himself, Draco did as directed. "Is it too hot, still?" Harry asked, still pointedly not looking at anything but the shower fixtures.

"No." Draco decided. "It's a bit too cold, actually." Harry nodded.

"Then you turn the red knob a bit more until it gets hot enough. Once you get it the right temperature, push the center one in again and it'll come out the shower instead." Draco nodded thoughtfully.

"That makes sense." He paused. "Thanks, Potter." Harry smiled, a rather pointless expression as he was still looking anywhere but at Draco.

"Don't mention it, Malfoy." Draco snorted.

"I don't plan to." He drawled. Harry just laughed, and eventually, Draco did as well.

A few minutes later, Draco shut off the water and grabbed his towel off the rack just outside the curtain. When Draco finally stepped out of the shower and allowed Harry to turn around, Harry couldn't help but gasp. In the morning light, Draco's black-and-blue torso looked even more wicked than it had the night before. He could also now see a matching set of bruises and cuts on the svelte boy's legs. Draco looked almost embarrassed at Harry's study of his body, and suddenly Harry did as well.

'I looked like I was checking him out or something!' He realized, flushing slightly and glancing away. Finally, Draco broke the awkward silence.

"I think a few of the cuts reopened." He said softly, almost apologetically. Harry swallowed his embarrassment and looked up at Draco, who was still standing nervously before him in his towel.

"That's alright. I can clean them up again in a few minutes. Just let me take my shower first." Neither boy would look the other in the eyes. "Do you think you can get back to my room?" Draco nodded. "Okay, then... just wait there for a few minutes. I'll be right back."

Draco slipped out the door without a word, scooping up the shreds of his once-clothing as he did so. Harry sighed as the door closed behind Draco as he exited. He quickly stripped out of his own pajamas and stepped into the shower. It was possibly the fastest shower he had ever taken. If he took too long in the bathroom, the Dursleys were bound to become, if not suspicious, at least annoyed at him. He wasn't sure which was worse.

When he finally arrived back in his room a few minutes later, he found Draco Malfoy sitting on his bed, wearing only a towel draped lazily across his lap, flipping through Harry's copy of "Quidditch Through the Ages". The sight was certainly an odd one, "Quidditch Through the Ages" aside. Harry couldn't imagine the amount of pain that had come with the injuries Draco had sustained, but here he was, only a few hours later, acting for all the world as if nothing had happened. Draco looked up as the door opened and Harry walked in, still clad in nothing but his own towel, and blushing like mad.

"I forgot to bring my clothes." He mumbled, digging into a drawer for the necessary items. He straightened, then looked at Draco questioningly. The Slytherin merely huffed and turned to face the wall. Harry rolled his eyes and dressed as fast as he possibly could. It didn't seem to have helped at all.

"Nice arse, Potter." Draco commented slyly, smirking from his position on the bed. Harry was tempted to hex him for looking, but found himself instead replying with a rather snarky

"Glad you enjoyed the view."

Years later, when Harry was having a particularly bad day, he would look back on this moment, remember Draco's face, and have a quiet laugh.

"Well, now that you're done admiring my arse, we need to treat those." Harry pointed at Draco's cuts, some of which had indeed reopened and were bleeding sluggishly. Draco took another moment to gape at Harry, then offered his back to be abused by the peroxide again.

"There. That's the last one. I can't really do anything about the bruises, though. I guess you'll just have to wait for them to fade on their own." Harry shrugged as he closed the first aid kit. Draco looked down at his chest and abdomen and grimaced.

"I don't think my skin has ever had this much... color..." He mumbled, obviously to himself, but Harry heard and let out a small giggle. Draco looked up at him and pinned him with a sly gaze. Harry flushed, realizing that he had just giggled like a little girl in front of his worst rival, and Draco chuckled. It was an odd noise to Harry's ears, but a decided improvement on the usual sardonic laughter that he had come to expect.

"I have to go make breakfast. They'll probably keep me working most of the day, so I probably won't be back for a while." Harry seemed embarrassed by this, glancing down at the word 'working' and not looking up until he had finished the sentence. "If you need anything to eat, you can look under the floorboard." Harry showed Draco how the hollow space could be accessed. "It's got a preserving charm on it, so don't worry about if the food's any good. It's a good idea to avoid Hagrid's rock cakes, unless you've decided that you don't like your teeth." Harry grinned up at him, and Draco smiled back, chuckling again. He was finding that Harry Potter was quite different than the image he had built up in his mind, but he couldn't decide which one he liked better. Well, he liked this one better, actually, but it was so much easier, the way it had been. Now, he was beginning to realize, it was going to be rather difficult to keep up the simple hatred that had existed too long.

'Know thy enemy... dangerous words.' Draco decided, and then wondered whether Harry Potter counted as his 'enemy' any longer. They sure weren't acting like enemies, but perhaps it was a special case. Draco decided to ponder it a bit more later. He would, it appeared, have most of the day to himself.

Harry stood up and dusted off his jeans. "It's probably better if those cuts air out for a while, but if you want to borrow some clothes, they're in that drawer." He gestured to the drawer he'd been rummaging in earlier. "I saw that you already found the Quidditch books, so you can look through those if you want." He shrugged. "Sorry I don't have more to keep you occupied."

Draco shrugged, wincing as he jarred a rib. "It's fine." Harry nodded, then seemed to realize something.

"Oh! Ah... I don't think my aunt or uncle will come in, and I know Dudley won't, so you shouldn't have to worry about that Don't worry, if they see you they'll probably run out of the room screaming." Harry laughed wickedly, and Draco decided that yes, he did have distinctly Slytherin tendencies at times. Even so, he couldn't help but send his own wicked grin right back. "Alright. I'll be back later." Harry exited the room, closing the door with a soft click.

Draco looked at the door blankly for a few seconds after Harry left, then sighed. All in all, he figured, it was a good thing that he had been so readily welcomed by the other boy. If he hadn't, he could just imagine the state that he would have been in. Nowhere to go, broken and bloody and wandering about the London suburbs at night, an easy target for any Death Eaters who might have followed him. He shuddered. Yes, it was a very good thing that Harry was letting him stay. 'Potter.' He corrected himself suddenly. 'His name is Potter. You do not call him Harry, he does not call you Draco.' He nodded, as if reassuring himself of this fact. Yes, it was much easier that way. It drew the line at 'temporary truce'. He was absolutely not going to allow himself to become friends with Harry Potter.

'But isn't that what you wanted?' His subconscious piped up, in its usual annoying manner. 'All those years ago? Isn't that what you wanted?'

He quickly told himself to shut up, then went back to intently studying "Quidditch Through the Ages", and steadfastly not remembering how hurt his eleven-year-old self had been, when that boy with the wild, dark hair and green eyes had refused to take his hand. No, he wouldn't remember that at all.

A/N: Please review! I'm really worried that no one likes this! #sniffle#


	4. The Best of Enemies

A/N- Not much to say on this one, just that it's being posted along with chapter 3, and that I really wish SOMEONE would review this without me having to call all my friends and beg...

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Chapter IV – The Best of Enemies

Harry arrived downstairs a little over an hour from when his Aunt Petunia had come to wake him, banging on the door and screeching as usual. That was normal. What wasn't normal was that he'd been awake for that entire hour. He had, by this time in his life, become desensitized to the noise, as one would be to an alarm clock that they've had for years. Except that he couldn't throw his Aunt Petunia at a wall to get her to be quiet, much as he wanted to sometimes.

When he stepped into the kitchen, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were there, but Dudley was nowhere to be seen. 'Probably still asleep' Harry thought, anger at the injustice burning like acid in his mind for a moment, then forgotten as quickly. It, like the screeching, was a normal occurrence. Aunt Petunia spotted him first, advancing upon him with frying pan and spatula in hand, yelling about 'cooking Duddikins' breakfast' and 'ungrateful lazy brat', and a thousand other phrases he had heard many, many times before. This morning, though, he was slightly embarrassed. He was sure that Draco... 'Malfoy,' he corrected himself, could hear at least part of what his Aunt was yelling at him. His ears burned with the shame. His friends knew, about his family, his life at home. He could just imagine the horrors that would be in store for him if word of such things made its way around the Slytherin common room.

He was spared further thoughts of that type, however, as his aunt thrust the cooking implements into his hands and shoved him roughly toward the stove. With a sigh, he began cooking the new 'No Cholesterol!' eggs and 'Fat Free SoySation!' bacon that the whole family was forced to consume as breakfast. Dudley had complained so loudly about being forced to eat fruit that his mother had given in, but not all the way. So, they were left with products that might have resembled actual food in some past life, but not any longer. Harry cooked it in silence, contemplating the pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs he had stored under the floorboard in his room. He made a mental note to contact Ron and Hermione, tell them to send more food. They would do it without question, he knew, which was a good thing. He had a feeling it would be better if no one knew that Dra- Malfoy... was there, for the present.

Dudley thundered down the stairs a few minutes later, lured by the food, however indigestible it may have been. Aunt Petunia dished out the food, giving Harry the tiniest portion, as usual. He ate it in silence, still pondering all the problems that presented themselves along with Draco's arrival. The first, of course, was how he was going to inform his family that there was another person, let alone another wizard, living in their house. As unhappy as they were to have Harry around, he could imagine the hurricane that would come down on his head when he told them. The next was how he was going to inform Dumbledore and the Order that he was harboring Draco Malfoy. It seemed antithetical to everything he had ever said or done regarding the Slytherin Prince. He was sure that Dumbledore would understand, but convincing someone like Mad-Eye Moody that Draco wasn't the evil git they'd all painted him as was going to take effort.

That and how Draco would react should he ever know about the Order. Harry was sure that he was aware of some form of organized resistance against Voldemort, but the knowledge of its members was not something that was given out lightly. Luckily, that was Dumbledore's decision to make, not his. But, some part of his mind that he wished would shut up was quietly insisting that he wanted Draco to know. He would rather that they were staying at the house at Grimmauld Place instead of with his relatives. If it managed to survive the coming war, Harry thought it might be a rather nice place to live, far away from the Dursleys and not too far from Diagon Alley and the wizarding world. Until he got the Headmaster's say-so, though, he was forbidden to mention the existence of the place, and, as he wasn't the Secret Keeper, he couldn't give out the address even if he wanted to.

Finally, once everyone had finished gagging on their food and had gone to do other things (with Aunt Petunia yelling for him to 'clean up, then get to the weeding'), he stopped mechanically chewing on the processed formerly-food products and cleared the table, washing the dishes quickly and with practiced ease, then getting a quick drink of water before heading outside to deal with Aunt Petunia's extensive gardens. He was well aware that he wouldn't be permitted re-entry into the house until he was done, and there was little hope of a member of his so-called family bringing him anything to drink.

He began with the back yard, knowing that the sun would make it impossible to work there in semi-comfort in the afternoon. It was much more prudent to do the back yard first, while there was still some shade there, and then move to the shadier front yard in the afternoon. Still, the work was difficult. There hadn't been much rain lately, and the ground was hard, making the weeds even more stubborn than usual.

No matter how many times he weeded the garden, there always seemed to be more weeds waiting to grow overnight. He was reminded of his own hair, and wondered about that for a moment before deciding that it was a stupid comparison, as the weeds probably didn't have any feeling whatsoever about whether they were removed or not, whereas he was rather attached to his hair.

Harry was distracted from these rather profound thoughts as he heard a noise from above him. He looked up, shading his eyes, to see Draco Malfoy leaning part of the way out his window, grinning down at him. He sighed, letting go of the weed he had been coaxing out of the ground and sitting back so that he could look up without straining.

"Need something?" He asked, just loud enough to be heard by Draco but not loud enough to be heard by the other occupants of the house. Draco smirked.

"No. You look like you could use this, though." He held up a bottle of butterbeer, one of the few that Harry had stashed away under the floorboard under a special cooling spell. Warm butterbeer was wonderful in the wintertime, but he found that the cold was equally as good in the summer. He grinned.

"Yeah. I was saving those, though. I see you got into the food alright?" Draco nodded. Harry refrained from commenting that he had also chosen to borrow one of Harry's favorite t-shirts, a green one that matched his eyes. It suited the Slytherin well, though, from what Harry could see. And the choice was rather logical, considering that most of Harry's other clothes bore Gryffindor insignia or were several sizes too big. The shirt would probably be a little big on the other boy to begin with; he had seemed a lot thinner than Harry had remembered him. But then again, it was rather hard to tell under Hogwarts robes.

"You need to get cockroach clusters. And some licorice wands. Why don't you have licorice wands?" Draco's voice was semi-accusatory, as though it was a cardinal sin not to stock the candy at all times, but he was smiling at the same time. Harry laughed.

"I'll put that on my shopping list, then. Any other requests, oh Selfish One?" Now it was Draco's turn to laugh, though he cut it short. Harry assumed he had jostled a rib again.

"Alright?" He asked, worried. Broken ribs could be dangerous, he knew. There was a big danger of puncturing a lung, particularly since they didn't know how bad the damage was or how to properly fix it. Draco waved off his concern.

"I'm fine, Potter. But next time you feel like calling me names," He was smiling now, but it was a bit more strained than before. He obviously was still in some pain, but, as expected, unwilling to admit it. "Just remember that I am the one holding the butterbeer." Harry rolled his eyes.

"So, are you going to throw that down, or not?" Draco put on his best innocent face.

"Well, I don't know, Potter. What'll you trade me for it?" Harry's eyes narrowed, but he smiled anyway. It was strange; to be playing this sort of game with his 'worst enemy', but it was fun, all the same.

"Hm." Harry pretended to think for a moment. "Well, how about a place to stay, food, clothing, and possibly a shower every now and then if you're good?" He cocked his head to the side and gave the blond a cheeky grin. Draco pouted for a moment.

"Prat. Fine, fine. Here you are." Harry was grateful for his Seeker's reflexes as he snagged the bottle out of the air. He looked back up as he opened his, only to see Draco doing the same with another bottle. 'So much for saving it.' Harry thought to himself. In the window, Draco held up his bottle, as if in a toast.

Harry grinned and raised his as well. "What are we toasting?"

Draco took a moment to answer. "To the best of enemies," he finally decided, raising his bottle a bit more then taking a sip. Harry did the same from his position on the ground.

'To the best of enemies indeed.'

They chatted for a few more minutes (Draco demanded to see Harry's collection of Famous Witches and Wizards cards, apparently he was a collector as well, and Harry discovered that Draco was serious about the cockroach clusters, which he found amusing), until Harry finished his butterbeer and threw the bottle back up, knowing that Draco could catch it easily (which he did). Harry got back to work, and Draco claimed that he needed to rest a bit.

It took the better part of the next hour to weed the back gardens, and the sun was already far past its zenith as he stood up and brushed the sweat off his forehead. He picked up the pile of weeds and took them around to the compost at the side of the house, then continued to the front yard. He surveyed it briefly, then sighed. It would be a long afternoon, and he idly wished that his room also had a window to the front.


	5. Goodnight, Draco

A/N: Hi! This is a bonus chapter, which I wasn't going to upload yet, but... I just had to, as a thank you to my ONE reviewer who reviewed of her own free will! Thank you soooooo much!

Because of that, this chapter is dedicated to **Snaped**, for her kind comments! I'm glad you're enjoying it! Also, the only reason I didn't spell out "please" in the summary is because FF. net was being annoying and cutting it off if I did. Sorry to anyone who's annoyed by the text language, but it was the only way to fit everything. And maybe I will drop the bit about the OFCs, you may be right about it scaring people off. Thanks Helen!

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Chapter V – Goodnight, Draco

It took Harry several more hours to finish the front gardens, at which time he was forced to cook some more inedible "food" for his and the Dursley's dinner. It was after six o'clock when he finally returned to his room. He half-expected to be yelled at for taking so long, but when he entered, he found Draco curled up in the corner of his bed with a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans ("Now With Sea Bass!") and reading a copy of "Advanced Seeker Techniques" that had been Harry's birthday present from Hermione this year. He looked up as Harry closed the door, blinking owlishly at him.

"Who are you? Do you live here?" He asked, looking a bit like a lost five year old. Harry stopped in his tracks.

"What? You don't remember?" This, he knew, could be very bad indeed. Very, very bad. He didn't get a chance to think of exactly how bad, though, as his pillow hit him in the face.

"Of course I know, you idiot. It certainly took you long enough to come back." Draco glared at him, but it really managed to look more like a pout. "What if I'd had a seizure, or started bleeding again, or died or something?" He was scowling again, and Harry was again reminded of just how much Draco could look like a ferret without really meaning to. He grinned and picked up the pillow off the floor, carrying it back and placing it on his bed.

"You're too annoying to die that easily." Harry teased lightly, picking up the box of candy and choosing a couple of the "safe" colors. "How much of my food did you manage to go through today, anyway?" Draco pouted again.

"Not that much. I'm still hungry, though. I haven't had anything but this kind of stuff for two days, you know." His voice retained its arrogant tone, but it was ruined by the untimely complaint of his stomach. He glared at it, as though that would help shut it up, and Harry nearly choked on his laughter. "Now you've gone and reminded it about food." He glared accusingly at Harry, who put his hands up in defense.

"Now, now. I wouldn't want to be killed by Draco Malfoy's angry stomach, after all." He grinned affably, and Draco couldn't help but crack a smile. "Don't worry, I told you I have real food. I can't believe you didn't find it." Draco looked on interestedly as Harry opened up the floorboard and pulled out all the sweets, placing them on the floor next to their usual hiding spot, and pulled his wand from his waistband. He looked up at Draco. "You just go like this." He tapped the bottom lightly twice and whispered softly, "Aperio". Draco blinked as the previously solid bottom of the hiding place disappeared, leaving him free to view the twin stacks of plain, white boxes that were hidden there. Harry smiled and laughed at the blond boy's shock.

"It's all Mrs. Weasley. Ron told her that they weren't feeding me properly, so she started sending me more food than I could possibly ever eat." He shrugged. "The preservation charm works wonders, though. And she was kind enough to fix them each with a heating spell, so if you ever want something, just tap the little stove design at the corner, see?" He pointed to the little design that Draco hadn't noticed. "And it will heat itself up just right. There's some silverware in here, too..." Harry trailed off as he dug around, his brow knitting in concentration. "Ah! Here we are!" He held up a handful of forks, knives and spoons like they were some great treasure. Draco chuckled, but looked nervously at the cutlery. Harry smiled at him. "It's clean, don't worry." Draco blinked. Was he really that transparent?

"So, what do you want?"

Draco thought a moment. "What are my choices?"

Harry grinned. "Homemade pot-pie, homemade pot-pie, and homemade pot-pie." Apparently this was a colossal joke of some kind to Harry, but Draco didn't quite get it. Harry sighed and explained. "She tends to send those the most. I think because it's small enough to send with Errol, but still enough food for me to live on. And you, now, too." Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Errol?"

Harry didn't quite manage to suppress his grin. "The Weasley's owl. He's really old, so he can't carry much, but I think he'd be quite put-out if they ever replaced him." Draco rolled his eyes. Harry already knew his opinion of all things "Weasley", but it was rather amusing.

"I'm sure you'll get to meet Errol at some point. And Hedwig, as well. She's gone to deliver and pick up some letters, but I expect she'll be back tonight." Draco nodded slowly.

"That's your owl, right?" Harry smiled.

"Yeah. She was a present from Hagrid; the day I found out I was going to go to Hogwarts. Birthday present, really. That was the first time I met you, as well." He grinned at Draco. "I think she's far easier to get along with, though." He dodged the pillow this time, but only just. It hit the floor beyond him with a 'thwap'. "No fair! I'm unarmed! Besides, I have the food!" Draco decided that this was true, and his stomach decided that it was important.

"Alright, Potter. You're getting off easy, mind you." Draco grinned haughtily, but his eyes were sparkling. "And I suppose I shall have the 'homemade pot-pie'." Harry laughed and pulled two of the boxes out, tapping the little designs on them and watching as they changed from black to red to black again.

"An excellent choice. Your food, monsieur." He held the box out to Draco with a flourish. The blond boy grabbed it quickly, scowling just so and wishing that he still had the pillow.

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After they finished dinner, Draco lounged back on Harry's bed sideways, letting his legs dangle off the side and his hair brush against the wall. Harry did the same, after he had put away the silverware and disposed of the boxes (which was easy, as they disposed of themselves after being empty for five minutes). The two boys lay there in silence for a few moments, looking at the ceiling and thinking. It wasn't really an uncomfortable silence, it was simply a silence.

"Do you always have to work like that?" Draco finally asked, in a soft voice. Harry turned his head to look at the blond's profile. He was still looking steadfastly upward, as though the ceiling was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen, but it was also obvious that he was serious about the question.

"Yeah." Harry admitted, looking back upward as well. "Pretty much. Every once in a while there's nothing to do, or they'll have company over, so I have to stay up here and pretend I don't exist." He grinned at the memory of what had happened the last time he'd tried to do so.

"What's so funny?" Harry turned again to see Draco looking straight back at him. He smiled.

"A house elf and a dessert." Draco blinked, and Harry smiled even brighter. "Your old house elf showed up and dropped this big dessert on Uncle Vernon's guests. I got blamed for it, of course, but it was really funny, looking at it now." Harry smiled wistfully. Draco just looked at him, confused.

"My old house elf?" He closed his eyes for a minute. "How long ago was that?"

Harry thought a moment. "Right before second year. So, four years now, I think?" Draco nodded thoughtfully.

"If it helps, your father accidentally freed him towards the end of the year." Harry smirked, remembering the trick he had pulled on Lucius Malfoy with some delight. Draco's eyes lit up.

"I think I remember that! You had something to do with it, didn't you? Father was furious for weeks! I remember him storming around, cursing under his breath and so on. Which one was that...?"

"Dobby." Harry filled in, glad they had found something reasonably 'normal' to talk about. Much better than that 'Sorry I got your father in jail; by the way, have you joined the Dark Side yet' bit which could have happened. "His name was Dobby."

"Yeah, I think I remember him. He was always a little squirrelly, even for a house elf. Wonder what's happened to him." Draco smiled. "Normally I wouldn't care," he attempted to justify himself, "but it's funny that you and a house elf got the better of my father. Well, maybe more amusing than funny. Though I halfway expect it from you, now, being Gryffindor's 'Golden Boy' and all." The words were typical Malfoy, but the tone was light, and Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"I didn't ask for that title, you know. And I do know what's happened to him, Dobby, I mean. He's working in the Hogwarts kitchen. I think the other house elves think he's a bit off as well." The boys regarded each other for a moment, then both broke out laughing.

'This is good.' Harry thought to himself. 'Really good. I never thought I'd be glad to have Malfoy around, but it's actually almost... nice.'

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They changed Draco's bandages again before turning in, though Harry noted that some of the larger wounds were going to require treatment for a while yet. However, the smaller cuts were healing nicely, and the larger ones seemed to have escaped infection up to that point, for which Harry was glad, and Draco was gladder. It was, after all, his body, and he was rather attached to it.

Some time later, they lay side by side on Harry's rather small bed, both staring at the now darkened ceiling.

"Favorite color." Harry whispered suddenly. Draco looked at him in the dim moonlight.

"What?"

"What's your favorite color? I figure if we're sharing a room and a bed for the rest of the summer, we might as well get to know each other."

Draco snorted, but couldn't find anything particularly bad about the idea.

"Fine then. Silver. Yours?"

"Hm... Red, I think, but I like blue, too. Your question."

Draco thought a moment. "Favorite subject."

Harry's answer was instantaneous. "Defense. Except when we have bad teachers." He amended. "Then... I don't know. I like Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures, even if it is dangerous sometimes." He grinned. "I got to pet a unicorn one time... What?" Draco had dissolved into giggles. "What?" Harry was beginning to laugh himself, and he didn't even know why.

Finally, Draco choked out a response. "Virgin! That answers one question!" He started laughing again, harder this time, then tensed as he flexed his still-injured ribs too much. Harry had been scowling at him for his comment, but now placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to find some painkillers?" His green eyes flashed in the darkness, giving Draco and indication of where he was as he shook his head "no".

"I'm fine, I'm just fine. I've got to stop doing that." He shook his head a bit more vigorously, then lay back down again, Harry following suit beside him.

"Okay, if you say so. Then, your favorite?"

"Potions." Draco's answer was immediate as well. "Professor Snape says I have what it takes to be a great potions master someday, if I'm interested."

Harry grinned at him. "That's great!" Draco regarded him oddly.

"I thought you hated Potions." he stated flatly, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. Harry shook his head.

"No. I'm not too good at it, and I hate Snape and his favoritism, but it's great that you know what you want to do."

"You don't?" Draco sounded surprised, and Harry sighed.

"Not really. I was thinking about Auror training, but I don't know if I want to go on fighting for the rest of my life. I think I would hate to always be "The Boy Who Lived", you know?" Draco didn't, really, but he nodded anyway, encouraging Harry to continue. "So I don't know what I want to do. I'm not particularly good at anything..." Draco snorted at that, and received a glare in return. "And anyway, all of this is assuming that I actually survive long enough to have a career." The resigned tone in the darker boy's voice was somewhat scary, Draco decided. Like he had already made up his mind that he wasn't going to.

"I just don't want to be famous forever, but whatever I do, I'm always going to be." Harry stared at the ceiling, mostly talking to himself at this point, though Draco was still listening intently. "If I die in the fight, I'll still be remembered, either as a martyr to the Light or a great victory to the Dark, though I don't much fancy dying anytime soon. But if I live, and manage to kill Voldemort," Draco flinched slightly, Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye, "then I'll be the great hero forever. Everyone will know my name, even more than they do now. I'll never have any peace at all. I think more than anything, all I want to do for the rest of my life is disappear."

Draco found himself contemplating such a future. It did seem rather dead-end. "I thought you liked being famous. All that signing autographs and your fan club and such." Harry groaned.

"You mean Lockhart and Colin Creevey? Please don't remind me! I couldn't get Lockhart to leave me alone, and I still can't get Colin to. D'you know how hard it is to hold Quidditch practice with a flashbulb going off every few seconds?" Draco grinned and shook his head.

"And yet you still manage to beat me." He said it in a tone of sheer awe, as though a feat of that kind was nearly impossible. Harry grinned.

"Well, that's just raw talent, mate. Nothing you can do about that." Draco elbowed him lightly, then had a sudden flash of inspiration for his next question.

"Favorite memory?" He felt Harry tense slightly at the words, and briefly wondered why. The dark-haired boy sighed softly.

"I don't really have one, I suppose. Well, maybe. The day Hagrid came and told me I was a wizard, and that I could leave here, that's a good memory. He gave me Hedwig, you know. She was my first real birthday present." Draco could hear the smile in Harry's voice, and briefly wondered exactly how bad the boy's life had been before that, that he hadn't even received a proper birthday present before. "Yeah, I'd have to say that one. That's the day that changed everything, so that would have to be the one. I mean, there's been a lot of bad stuff, but overall everything is better now than it was then." Harry was very definite in this statement. "So, what's yours, then?"

Draco thought for a while, searching for his best memory. It was hard to pin down. Not because he didn't have good memories; there were high points mixed into the lows. It was just that most of his good memories were tempered by something bad that had happened at more or less the same time. After a minute or so of silence, Harry spoke.

"You don't have to tell me if you really don't want to." He seemed disappointed, but accepting. Some secrets, he knew, were the kind that you didn't want to share with anyone. Especially someone you had hated for five years. Thinking this, Harry opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Draco.

"It's not... that I don't want to tell. I just realized that I don't really know." Harry could feel the blond's shrug. He spoke as if trying to be nonchalant, but Harry could hear that the realization had shaken him a bit. Time to change the subject.

"Why have we hated each other for so long?" Harry didn't really direct the question at Draco; he just sent the thought out, a rhetorical question to the universe that might never be answered. Draco began to think seriously about the question, but lost his thoughts as a yawn took over instead.

"We'd better get some sleep." Harry commented as Draco finished, then found himself yawning as well. Draco nodded sleepily.

"'Mm. 'Night, Harry." He mumbled as his eyes shut of their own accord. Harry's, however, shot open briefly as he contemplated the blond boy next to him. Yes, he had heard correctly. And he found he didn't really mind at all. In fact, he rather liked it. So, whatever the answer was, apparently they didn't hate each other anymore. Harry found that he rather liked that, too.

"Goodnight, Draco." He buried his head in his side of the pillow and followed Draco into sleep.

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#Does the ancient 'review dance' used by writers everywhere since the dawn of time, and looks up hopefully#


	6. Meet the Dursleys

A/N- Thank you SO much to my wonderful reviewers, even though there are less of you than I would have liked. **Taiyou Faia-Kitsune**, **Marsky**, **burningchaos**, **lampshadesrgreat**, **chaotic kat**, and **Dyyla Joi**, I love you guys!

This is actually my least favorite of the chapters so far. I probably would have done away with it, but important things happen that need to happen, so... Anyway, to answer a few concerns as best I can without giving away the plot (which is so INSANELY more complex now than when I started...):

Yes, Draco is OOC here. In the simplest terms I can give you, he lied to Harry way back when. Not a huge lie, but an important one. I'll get to it later, I promise. The way I see it is this- after the whole thing with Cedric, Harry started getting all snarky and moody. Draco is doing the exact same thing, just in the opposite direction. I catch myself wondering why no one sees that he's slowly getting back to normal, but then I realize that I'm on chapter 15 and you're all on chapter 6.

As to the reason Harry is being so nice to him, I couldn't see Harry being mean and nasty to someone who came to his door beaten to a pulp and asking for help. It just isn't in his nature, simply because he knows what it feels like to be treated like crap and ignored. The reason for his initial kindness is just that, the reason for his continuing kindness is that they're learning to see the sides of the other that they've never faced before. Trust me, I'm not going to make it easy on them. It's smooth sailing for a while, here, but the rapids will come up eventually. At this point, they've barely pushed away from shore.

To end these notes, I have a burning desire for some information, or at least a lead on where to find it. I'm kinda sick right now, and my head is all foggy. I'm good to write my own plot, but I have not the brainpower to scan through all the books looking for incidental details. Here's what I need, even if someone could just throw me a book number and chapter number, I'd be much obliged. I need basic info on as many of Draco's "buddies" as can be found- Pansy, Blaise, etc. Crabbe and Goyle I've got, no problem, but I really don't have the energy to scan through five books looking for Pansy Parkinson's eye color, you know? Yeah.

Okay, I'm going to go take more Sudafed, you guys enjoy. I'll put chapter 7 up tomorrow. Oh, and if I can get 25 reviews by Christmas, I'll guarantee that I'll post a full 15 chapters by January 1. How's that for a deal?

PS- Oh, and to answer, no one does anything to Dudley, really. They might have, but I didn't give them time. Draco does steal his chair, though...

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Chapter VI – Meet the Dursleys

The next few days went by faster than Harry would have thought possible. Hedwig had returned in the night, dropping the usual letters on his desk and retiring to her cage. She and Draco had gotten along reasonably well, Harry decided, considering that he thought the owl was much more intelligent than most people would suspect, and probably knew what a git he'd been for the last few years. Nevertheless, ten minutes after Harry had introduced him, Hedwig was nipping lightly at Draco's fingers as he petted her.

"I always wanted my own owl." he commented, chuckling as the owl nipped him again. Harry looked at him oddly.

"I'd have thought you got everything you wanted." He commented lazily, as though this were indisputable fact. Draco smiled thinly.

"Not everything." Harry heard the sigh in his voice, but decided that the other boy would probably prefer it if he didn't ask. He was probably right.

At the very least, Draco had gotten used to the fact that his relatives never opened Harry's door, so he had stopped shoving Harry off the bed in the mornings, which Harry was glad of. It was hard enough being forced to do housework all day; he didn't need to be so rudely awakened as well.

Harry's requests for food had been answered, as he expected they would be, without comment. Ron sent him a note asking if he was pregnant, though, citing the cockroach clusters and licorice wands as being just as strange for Harry as ice cream and pickles were to any other person. The letter was quite funny, and even Draco had laughed about it. Draco had also been quite surprised that Harry bothered to ask for his favorites, or that he even remembered the brief comments they had shared about the snack foods. When they had arrived and Harry passed them to him, he knew he looked like an excited child, but he found that he didn't care. Harry had just laughed and told him not to drool on the floor, and had been pillowed again for it.

So, they came to the end of Draco's first week at Number 4 Privet Drive, having spent the week not half as horribly as both of them imagined it could have been. They were actually, Harry thought, getting dangerously close to being friends. He could just imagine Ron's reaction to it; he hated Draco with a passion. Harry could understand why, of course. Draco had said some pretty rude things about Ron, and his entire family. But, as he was getting to know the blond boy, he was also beginning to realize that a lot of the things Draco said and did had no meaning behind them at all. It seemed to be something that he just did, an integral part of Draco Malfoy. He would say horribly insulting things still, even as they were sharing dinner or going to sleep for the night, but Harry was slowly learning to tell when he was serious and when he wasn't. The mean glint that he had always seen in Draco's eyes, he realized, was probably not anywhere near as "mean" as he had thought it. He wondered just how many of the other boy's actions he had misinterpreted over the years, and also wondered how many of his own actions Draco had misinterpreted.

Draco's wounds had mostly healed, though he was now an attractive shade of brownish purple rather than black and blue. Harry had commented to this effect, and been hit with the pillow yet again. He was starting to think he should limit Draco's access to the projectile weapon, but then had the startling realization that, despite the fact that Draco did still have his wand (he put it on the desk right next to Harry's at night, a sort of unspoken truce), he hadn't drawn it on him once since arriving. Where he would normally have been the subject of a curse or hex, he was now simply the target of a soft mass of fluff. He wasn't sure what that meant, if anything. Maybe Draco just found it convenient, or perhaps he assumed there was a reason Harry never used his wand and decided to follow suit. Whatever the reason, Harry was glad that Draco had avoided using magic, as he wasn't quite prepared to explain to the entire Order what Draco Malfoy was doing in his bedroom.

At that particular moment, what he was doing was complaining. Harry had come to the realization that Draco was an accomplished complainer. He could find something to complain about in every situation if he felt like it. And he had been feeling like it more and more. The most dangerous thing that could have happened had. Draco Malfoy had gotten bored. And as a result, he was complaining about everything from the food ("Why can't we ever have anything else?") to the sleeping arrangements ("Stay on your half, or I'll shove you out again.") to the quality of air ("Why is it so musty in here? Can't you get an air freshener or something?"). Harry had had about all he could stand of this over the previous two days. Draco was in the process of opening his mouth to say something else (probably about the waning supply of cockroach clusters, which was only waning because Draco himself was eating so many of them) when Harry finally decided that he'd had enough.

"If you want to come down and help, you're more than welcome." He snipped in Draco's general direction. It was yet another morning, very much like the previous ones. Both boys had showered and dressed, and Draco had since positioned himself on Harry's bed, as usual, with his "breakfast" of snacks. Harry had grown used to it, but he still wondered how it was possible for Draco to eat so much junk food and not wind up as ... rotund... as his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. He had often thought of asking the question outright, but wasn't quite sure how Draco would take it; not the question itself, of course, but Harry still recalled how venomously Draco had spoken of his father when he first arrived, and he knew that the other two boys' parents were friends of Lucius Malfoy's. It would be better, for the time being, if he didn't pour salt in a possible wound.

In the meantime, Draco appeared to actually be considering the offer. The majority of his wounds being healed, he had much more mobility and stamina than he had had in the first few days, and he figured that he probably could stand to move around. If he remembered correctly, it would actually speed his healing time. He looked up at Harry questioningly.

"What are you doing today?" Harry blinked at the question, but proceeded with pulling his shoes on as he answered.

"Planting. Aunt Petunia has some fall-blooming something or other that she wants put in." Draco nodded slowly.

"Can I help?" Harry looked up at him for a long moment. He could tell from the tone of voice that Draco was not asking permission, he was asking if he would actually be useful if he were to help. He met Draco's eyes, and judged him to be serious.

"Yeah. At the very least, you could help tamp down the dirt and water them after they're in." Harry shrugged, leaving the final decision to Draco himself. He made it quickly.

"Then I'm helping." Harry smiled to himself, privately imagining the amount of complaining that Draco would be doing by the end of the day.

"Okay, then." Harry finished tying his shoe and stood up. "Whenever you're ready." He tried to sound confident, he really did, but inside he was quivering. He had never had any friends, so he had never had to introduce anyone to the Dursleys before Hogwarts, and even since, the closest he'd gotten to an 'introduction' was the Weasleys pulling him through a fireplace (and his Uncle Vernon had not been pleased with that). He could feel his stomach churning at the thought of the Dursley's reactions when they saw Draco. What would he do if they kicked both of them out? They could go to Diagon Alley, use the Knight Bus like he had and get rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, but he knew that would raise heads. He was famous, and Draco wasn't unknown in the wizarding world. Both of them, in the same place at the same time, was bound catch someone's attention, and attention was definitely not what Draco or he needed right then (even though Draco was annoyed if Harry's attention was anywhere else for more than five minutes, but Harry chalked that one up to boredom, cabin fever, and having no one else to talk to but Hedwig, who wasn't much of a conversationalist). Also, Harry couldn't see Draco Malfoy ever having stayed somewhere like the Leaky Cauldron, nor ever wishing to.

And that wasn't even the worst that Harry could imagine. Well, all he could imagine the Dursleys doing was kicking them out for now, they were much too scared of the Order to lay a hand on him, and he figured that that fear would transfer to Draco as well, but what would he do if they kicked him out permanently? He supposed he could live at Grimmauld Place, but he couldn't see Dumbledore letting him. The old wizard had been adamant about Harry staying with his blood relatives at least for a while every year. If they wouldn't take him, where would he go? He wasn't yet an adult, not legally, so he couldn't really do anything if the Dursleys refused to keep him any longer. He would be easy pickings for any Death Eater with a grudge or something to prove. And besides himself, there was now Draco to consider. He had made it clear that he wouldn't be able to go home for a long while, if ever.

Harry was pulled from his worried inner-thoughts by the pillow again connecting with his skull. Draco was standing up in front of him, holding the other end of the pillow that now rested lightly against Harry's ear, wearing a look of slight concern. The expression changed to a smirk, though, as he glared at the blond.

"I'm ready." He stated, the smirk transferring to his voice oh-so easily. Harry looked him over once. He looked as immaculate as anyone could under such circumstances, wearing a borrowed outfit (Harry's favorite green shirt again, and a pair of jeans that must have been from when Dudley was eight, as they actually almost fit) and having had the living shit beat out of them only a week before. Aside from what might be mistaken as a shadow near his hairline (the last vestiges of the nasty cut that had bloodied his hair so well the night he arrived), Draco Malfoy looked exactly like... Draco Malfoy. Harry gulped, but felt better. If there was one thing that the Dursleys hated more than wizards, it was unkempt wizards. He thanked whoever was listening that Draco Malfoy, for all his faults, was anything but "unkempt". Harry made an attempt to smooth down his hair, a nervous habit that he had never been able to break, bit his lip slightly and opened the door to his room.

As the two boys made their way downstairs, Harry's mind raced. What was he going to say to them when they looked at Draco and him in shock? When his Uncle Vernon began his yelling, when Dudley raced to "hide" behind his mother, who could block perhaps the view of one of his arms but not much else. What was he going to do?

Draco, as it turned out, handled it for him. He cut in front of Harry on the stairs, and strolled into the kitchen as though it were the most natural thing in the world, Harry following behind him in a cloud of worry.

The entrance of Draco Malfoy into the Dursley kitchen would not be forgotten soon. Dudley wasn't awake, as it was his custom to appear only when there was food or a present of some kind available. It was Harry's Aunt Petunia who was the first to notice that a stranger had appeared in the room, as Vernon Dursley was already buried in his morning paper.

It was a lovely morning; sunlight was streaming through the front windows of the house, the backyard was glistening with early morning dew that had yet to burn off, Aunt Petunia was screeching, Uncle Vernon's yelling was causing him to turn a shade of purple usually only seen in the rarer kind of tropical flowers, Harry stood in the doorway, trying his best to look unconcerned but inside already running to pack his things. And Draco stood in the midst of it all, lightly rocking on the balls of his feet and wearing his best Slytherin look of pure arrogance and annoyance, completely ignoring the screaming adults before him. He waited calmly for a few minutes, reading the Muggle news as best he could upside-down and paying no attention to the Dursleys whatsoever. It didn't take long for them to quiet and begin staring at him as though he had grown a second head right before their eyes. He smiled, and Harry cringed. Draco smiled for many reasons, and he was sure that this wasn't one of the good ones.

He was mildly surprised. The blond boy reached a hand into the pocket of his borrowed jeans and pulled out a handful of something. The Dursleys eyed his fist warily, both edging backward slowly, as one would back away from a dangerous beast. Harry figured that, in a way, they probably had the right idea. Finally, still not revealing his hand, Draco spoke.

"Good morning. I suppose you're wondering who I am?" He eyed the Dursleys, waiting for a response. Finally, Aunt Petunia nodded slightly, then looked terrified. Draco merely smiled again, and gave a slight bow. "I am Draco Malfoy, heir of the Malfoy line. I shall be staying here the remainder of the summer holiday." He said it so simply that Harry couldn't believe his audacity, to simply announce that he would be staying. Then he saw what Draco had in his hand. The Slytherin smiled, his eyes lighting in the particular evil way that made him rather resemble the dragon he was named, and opened his hand, spilling its contents onto the Dursleys kitchen table. There were several gold Galleons, Harry estimated between ten and fifteen. The Dursleys were now torn between eyeing the pile of gold on their table and eyeing the boy who had produced it, who then continued to speak.

"Solid gold, of course. I trust it will cover my room and board here, along with my helping Harry in his chores, of course." He spoke with an amiable enough tone, but one that brooked no argument. His statements would be fact, for he would accept no other outcome. With that, he strode further into the kitchen and relieved Aunt Petunia of her frying pan, casually asking where he could find the eggs.

Harry stood in shock. Not only had Draco Malfoy faced down the Dursleys, he had done it and won, without any sort of punishment or backlash at all. In fact, Harry realized, he had probably hit on the only solution to his being allowed to stay for any length of time. There were two things that held power over the Dursleys- money and prestige. It was clear from his language, his demeanor, and the small pile of gold that was worth more than Vernon Dursley's paycheck for the year, that Draco Malfoy had both. In surplus. The Dursleys, so attuned to such things, were more than aware of it.

They were also aware that the boy, besides his obvious high status, was also a wizard- no one else would have shown up at their house and arrived in their kitchen alongside their unwanted nephew. A healthy dose of fear and gold had worked a miracle, and Harry felt more relieved than he could remember feeling for a while. For a moment, at least, his problems had been solved for him, and it was Draco who had done the solving. He didn't think he could ever thank the other boy enough; it was a solution that he never would have thought of, and one that was so eminently Draco.

Instead of thanking him at the moment, he instead moved over to where Draco was working out how to use the Muggle stove. He was studying it intently, trying to figure out how to make it cook an egg that was sitting, still whole, in the frying pan. Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He softly removed Draco's hand from the handle of the pan and took over, cracking the egg and splitting it over the pan, careful to keep the shell from cracking and breaking off into the goo. Draco was watching intently over his shoulder, seemingly determined to figure this out. Harry threw out the shells and returned to make sure the egg was cooking properly before asking the obvious question.

"Have you never cooked an egg before?" He asked it quietly, but he and Draco could both tell that the Dursleys were listening intently. Draco shot Harry an impressed smile for a fraction of a second, aware that Harry was allowing him to back up the assumptions the Dursleys had made earlier. Then he changed it quickly to the smirk that matched his next tone of voice.

"Of course not! We have servants for this kind of... thing..." He eyed the egg distastefully in case the Dursleys were watching him. Harry grinned and sighed.

"Sorry you have to come live with us peasants." He joked, his tone somewhere between joshing and sarcastic.

"Nonsense." Draco shot back, mirroring Harry's inflection perfectly, "I suppose it will do me good to learn how the unfortunate such as yourself manage to survive."

The boys both chuckled, aware that the Dursleys were paying rapt attention to all that was said and not caring in the slightest, as Harry slid the egg off the frying pan and onto the serving plate next to the stovetop. He then retrieved the bacon from where it was sizzling on a back burner, sliding that onto the plate as well and taking it to the table.

Dudley was just arriving downstairs as he and Draco took two of the remaining chairs at the table, leaving only one for the large boy to wedge himself into. He had approached cautiously that morning- his parents' screaming waking him long before the smell of cooking bacon. The screaming and its sudden cessation had led him to believe that 1) something big had happened, 2) it involved Potter, and 3) he had best not mention it.

Therefore, Dudley smashed as much of himself as he could fit onto the last remaining chair, not mentioning the sudden appearance of a platinum blond boy that he had never seen before nor the fact that said boy had taken his second chair. He watched his parents for a moment before deciding how to proceed. They were acting oddly- they would look at the stranger, then avoid looking at him, then shoot glances his way, but there were being neither hostile nor welcoming. They simply acted as though he were a hallucination or mirage that would go away eventually, but, even so, is not to be treated as real while it is there. Inputting all this information in a much simplified format, Dudley came to his conclusion- do not mess with the new boy. It would be a Bad Idea. With this firmly cemented in his rather thick head, Dudley settled down to consume his portion of the egg and half slice of bacon.

Breakfast was eaten in silence, broken only by the clinking of ice in glasses of orange juice (half filled, of course) and the occasional swish of a napkin across skin. Once he had cleaned up, Harry was directed to the plants that needed to be put in the garden. They stood in a row, like leafy soldiers awaiting orders, in the backyard of the Dursley house. Harry drank his customary glass of water, watching Draco as he copied the procedure, and stepped out into the yard, Draco following him silently.

The sun was still well-hidden behind the house, but its rays illuminated what they could see of the rest of the neighborhood, glinting off windows in golden arcs. It really was quite a lovely neighborhood, with nicely kept houses and lawns, but rarely did Harry ever stop to appreciate it except on mornings such as that one. The dark haired boy stretched out, his back cracking in several places as it bent backward slightly. He yawned slightly, flexing his shoulders as he did so, then smiled and turned to Draco, who still trailed a few paces behind him. With a grin he motioned to the blond to follow him. They needed to retrieve shovels and other planting implements before they could start the day's work. Harry eyed the soldiers, still standing silently in their line. Somehow, there didn't seem to be quite so many as there had been the night before.


	7. A Warning and Hope

A/N: Hey there! Can I just say I love all my reviewers? Because I do! This chapter goes out to **toots, rinkurocks, burningchaos, Marsky, Micka, fotty, shawna clasey, **and** Snaped**!!!

And now, a few more notes... Since it appears I might just hit my review goal for Xmas, I do have to warn you all that after I post what I've got, the updates may be further between. I've been working at a fever pitch over break, since I'm laid up with a cold right now anyway, but once school starts up again, I'll have exams and so on. In the way of GOOD news, after exams I start second semester, during which i have a study hall! So, hopefully I'll get some writing time in, either there or once I get home. Also on the plus side, the plot will _really_ begin to pick up once everyone gets to Hogwarts (yes, I know it seems like I've forgotten about that, I haven't, really!).

Please bear with me through the boring parts of this plot! A lot is happening, it's just happening under the surface.

(Chapters 7 and 8 will be posted together)

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Chapter VII – A Warning and Hope

It was already time for supper when Harry and Draco finished their work in the yard. Harry couldn't keep himself from grinning at the other boy's obvious displeasure. Not only had he not received any lunch, he had been working all day and was developing a nice set of blisters on his hands.

It was, of course, entirely his own fault. Harry had suggested that the blond wear a pair of gardening gloves when he demanded to be allowed to dig one of the holes, but they had been refused. Draco was adamant that if Harry could do it without gloves, so could he. Harry had attempted to protest that he had also been doing this for about 16 years, as opposed to two hours, but Draco would hear none of it.

As a result, the blond's hair was matted with sweat, his stomach was growling, he had dirt all over him, and he was nursing his injured hands with as much dignity as he could muster. Harry had an idle wish for a Polaroid snapshot of the moment, if only for use as blackmail in the future. Never had he seen Draco Malfoy so disheveled. But, he noted with some interest, Draco had actually seemed to be having fun, at least while they were working. In fact, the only reason Harry was so clean was because Draco had gotten bored with watering plants halfway through the afternoon and decided to water Harry instead. And the only reason Draco was so dirty was because Harry had responded with several handfuls of damp soil, which clung beautifully to blond hair.

If it had happened at school, Harry knew, it would have been the start of a war, which would probably have extended far beyond the two of them to encompass both their Houses. Yet here, for some reason, some fluke of fate or time or space, all it became was a teasing scuffle in the backyard, which ended with laughter rather than curses and bruises. It was, Harry decided, markedly better than the first option.

The boys took off their shoes as they went in the house, Draco heading upstairs to try to shower the dirt and sweat off his skin and out of his hair, Harry heading into the kitchen to start dinner. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Dursleys in quite a while, he assumed that they were doing their best, as usual, to ignore that he (and now Draco) existed. Putting it out of his mind for the moment, he started preparing the main course. As far as he could tell, it was meat that might have once been steak, before some health-minded person took out all the grease, fat, cholesterol, calories and flavor. At the present, it looked rather like a limp, grey mass. Harry sighed. It appeared as though he and Draco would again be surviving on pot-pie.

Dinner was eaten in the same silence as breakfast, the Dursleys having made their appearance just as Harry finished the cooking. Harry discerned that they had been to the tailor's, to get Dudley's Smeltings uniform tailored so that it would be large enough to accommodate him. Draco had to hide his snicker when Harry quietly mentioned this to him as they made their way upstairs to their actual meal.

As Harry opened his door, however, he was surprised to see Hedwig perched on his desk, along with one of the school's tawny owls. Hedwig hooted softly at him as he made his way over and relieved both of them of their messages. He set the envelopes aside for a moment and opened the door to Hedwig's cage so that she could have access to her water, and offered the tawny owl a drink as well. It seemed to decline politely, bowing its head a bit and hooting before taking off out the open window.

The owls taken care of, Harry turned his attention to the letters. Draco, who had taken up his usual position in the corner of the bed, watched interestedly as he tapped the corner of his pot-pie box and waited for it to heat up.

The two envelopes were identical, and obviously the school letters that came every year about this time. Harry had been wondering when the letter would arrive, as his usually appeared on his birthday. The only difference between them was on the front, in the address. One clearly read "Harry Potter". The other clearly read "Draco Malfoy". Both at the same address; The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Harry took a deep breath, and handed Draco his envelope. The blond blinked a few times as he looked at it.

"Well, I suppose that answers the question of if anyone knows I'm here." He drawled, prying the seal up with what, until recently, had been a perfectly manicured nail. Harry did similarly, opening his letter and unfolding the contents. The parchment was the same as always, but he could see that his envelope contained one more piece of paper than Draco's did. It was at the very front, before the traditional letter from Professor McGonagall, and was written in a spidery script that Harry would recognize anywhere. Dumbledore.

The note itself was very brief, and very simple. It read;

"Harry,

I do hope you've had a pleasant summer; however, it has come to our attention that you have a rather unusual houseguest. I shall be brief; please expect a visitor tomorrow. And have no fear, Harry, we do not wish your guest harm. Also, I think you will be pleased by the identity of your visitor.

All the best,

A. Dumbledore"

There was, in addition to the text of the letter, a postscript. It read, "The decision to alert your guest about your visitor is yours alone, however, you have my permission should you choose to do so."

The letter was reasonably cryptic, which Harry had expected, no names were given except his own and Dumbledore's, and anyone who intercepted the letter could've determined those rather easily anyhow. It seemed, though, that the Order was certainly aware of Draco's presence, though Harry couldn't determine whether they were displeased by it.

"Harry?" Draco's voice dragged his thoughts away from the parchment. "Is something wrong?" The boy seemed somewhat concerned. "You spaced out a bit, there."

Harry smiled reassuringly. "No, no, I'm fine. I just got a note from Dumbledore." Draco twitched slightly.

"About me, right?" He gestured with his own letter. "They obviously know I'm here now." Harry nodded.

"Here. It says I can tell you, so I suppose you can read it yourself." He handed the letter to the blond, who took it carefully. He sat and read it through at least twice before looking back at Harry, who had settled himself on the opposite corner of the bed, sitting Indian-style and resting his back against the wall.

"Any ideas on who's coming? He says you'll be pleased." Draco waved the letter at Harry, in case he had forgotten that particular statement. Harry grinned.

"I have a few ideas." He could tell, based simply on the fact that Dumbledore mentioned that he would be pleased, that his visitor would be an Order member whom he was familiar with. Perhaps Tonks or even Lupin. For a fleeting second when he read the note, he had held on to the thought that perhaps, just maybe, it was Sirius coming to see him, but the thought was wiped away as quickly as it appeared. It was best not to dwell on things that couldn't be changed, Harry knew that very well. At the beginning of summer, he had been a wreck, but he had slowly been adjusting to life without the dream of moving away to live with his godfather, of finally having a family who loved him and wanted him. In a way, he realized, Draco's presence had helped tremendously. In worrying about the other boy (whether his health or what he was getting up to in Harry's room while he worked every day), he had been able to put his own worries behind him for the most part. His attention was elsewhere, and, because the raw wound on his heart wasn't being picked at anymore, it had finally really started to heal.

As Harry pondered, Draco read the letter a final time, then lightly tossed it to land on Harry's desk. That accomplished, he sat back again to read his school letter. Enclosed was his booklist, of course, and, strangely enough, his class schedule. He looked at it oddly before turning to Harry with a questioning gaze. The dark-haired youth was still lost in thought, so Draco smacked him lightly on the shoulder with the thick parchment. Harry blinked a few times and turned to him, confused. Draco sighed.

"Did you get a schedule? In your letter, I mean." Harry blinked again.

"I don't know. I didn't really have a chance to look." He confessed, opening his school letter again. Yes, there it was, he discovered, just as confused as Draco. He shrugged. "Maybe it's explained in the letter." He suggested, and began reading the traditional document. He found it a moment later.

"Here it is!" Harry exclaimed, as if finding the explanation would win him some sort of prize. Draco snorted, but listened as Harry read aloud.

"We apologize for the late arrival of your school letters this year. In the interest of expediency, we have sent all students their schedules as well as the list of required books. All changes or adjustments to student's schedules must be made before the start of term. No Exceptions." Harry finished, then looked up at the blond.

"Well, I suppose there's a first time for everything." Draco looked down at his piece of parchment, then back to Harry. "Want to compare?"

He considered it for a moment. Comparing schedules would mean, basically, that he was telling Draco Malfoy, the one person who had always set out to make his life a living hell, exactly where he would be and when for the entire first term. Then he looked back at the blond, who had his schedule casually extended in Harry's direction, and looked about as malicious as the pillow next to him. With a sigh and a quick plea that the universe not say 'I told you so' at some later date, he extended his schedule as well.

Immediately, Draco leaned in to the space between the two boys, his eyes darting quickly to compare the two papers. After a moment's hesitation, Harry leaned over to look as well. There didn't seem to be much commonality at first, but as he looked farther, he noted some similarities.

"Hmm... We have Herbology Tuesdays and Thursdays together..." Draco began reading his findings aloud, taking long pauses as he continued scanning.

"And Astronomy Monday nights." Harry added, referring to one line that the other had apparently missed. Draco made a little noise of agreement and nodded.

"Hm. You're right. Astronomy Mondays, then. Oh, here... Defense on Mondays and Fridays together... Why aren't you taking Potions?" Draco suddenly looked up at Harry in the most accusatory manner that he could muster. For a moment, Harry was actually flustered.

"Wha- Why? Because I'm horrible at it, of course. You've said that yourself." Harry suddenly found himself on the defensive, and had no particular understanding of why. He really didn't have to explain his choice of classes to anyone, let alone his greatest rival, but he suddenly found the need to.

Draco made another little agreement noise. "I suppose I must have." He settled back against the wall again, Harry following suit. "It's not that you're particularly bad at it, you know." He continued after a moment. Harry assumed that he must have given Draco a fairly incredulous look, as the blond continued. "You just don't try, that's your problem."

Harry immediately opened his mouth to counter this statement, but found himself cut off by two of the blond's fingers suddenly resting on his lips in an obvious shushing motion. He closed his mouth and the hand fell away.

"Don't even try to argue it. You don't. You made up your mind that you dislike Professor Snape, and as a result you've never put any real effort into the class. I'm sure you would do quite fine if you bothered to put a little work in. Let me guess," He hurried onto his question before Harry could attempt to interrupt him again. "You always do your Potions homework last, if at all. Even behind Divination, right?" It was all Harry could do to nod, wondering how in the world Draco Malfoy had figured out his study habits. The blond just gave a little satisfied nod.

"See? You don't want to try. You've gotten it into your head that somehow you not doing your homework hurts Snape. It doesn't, trust me." Harry just gave him an irked look.

"Well, it doesn't matter anymore, does it? I'm not in his class, so I won't have any of his homework to do." Harry tried to fill the statement with finality, but knew that he hadn't quite managed it. Draco made this certain by continuing.

"You should be. Sign up. Right now. Write a letter to McGonagall and request to be put in." Harry gave him a look that quite eloquently stated 'Why the bloody hell should I?'

Draco sighed again. It was his private thought that if Harry put half as much work into doing his work as he did into avoiding it and being stubborn, he would be head boy within a month. And, however much he had always claimed to hate "Potter", Draco Malfoy also detested the wasting of perfectly good talent.

He grabbed Harry's schedule quickly, before the dark-haired boy had a chance to react, and started comparing the two again. "Here. And here." He poked at two places on the paper with an index finger. "Get rid of this ridiculous waste of time they call Divinations and swap spaces with your free period and you can fit into the same class as mine." Harry glared at him.

"Join a group of Slytherins for a class I'm no good at with a teacher who hates me? No thanks." Draco smacked him with the parchment.

"Honestly, don't you ever pay attention? Classes are integrated now. Since there's such variation in which classes students want to take, and since we're in the advanced classes now anyway, they don't split them by House from here on out. How long have you been at Hogwarts for, anyway?" Harry declined to dignify that statement with an answer, choosing instead to act as if he hadn't heard a word Draco had said. The blond growled and crawled across the surface of the bed to plant himself directly in front of Harry, crossing his arms and meeting him eye to eye. The two traded glares for almost a minute before Draco spoke again, his gaze never wavering.

"I'll help you, alright?" Harry blinked. Rapidly. If there was anything he had expected out of this situation, it was not to be faced with an irate Draco Malfoy promising to help him with his Potions homework.

"You'll... help... me?" Harry rolled the words around slowly, as if trying to determine their actual meaning. Draco sat back, no longer staring him directly in the eye.

"Yes, I'll help you. But I want something in return." Harry rolled his eyes.

"What, do your Transfiguration homework for you or something?" Draco grimaced. He was not particularly fond of Transfiguration, though he was passable to good at it, and it did provide for amusement when used properly. He was quite good at turning people who annoyed him into slugs.

"Not quite. You had some kind of group last year, working on spells and things they don't teach. I probably already know some of them, but I want you to teach me the ones I don't."

Harry took a moment to collect himself. Draco had delivered his proposition with perfect sincerity, and he didn't doubt that the Slytherin was serious. It was just... too odd for him to believe it.

"Let me get this straight," Harry began, waiting for Draco's nod of approval to continue. "You want me to teach you the things the DA worked on last year, and in return, you'll help me with Potions?" Draco smiled brilliantly.

"Precisely. If you move your schedule the way I suggested, we'll have our free periods at the same time as well, so it works out fine." Harry stared at him.

"You don't think anyone would notice that you, Draco Malfoy, and I, Harry Potter, widely known to hate each other, suddenly started spending all of our free periods together?" Harry was incredulous, but Draco merely smirked.

"Well, you could just say that Professor Snape is forcing you to get tutoring, you know. Everyone knows you're miserable at Potions." Harry allowed himself to fall backward into the wall, his head banging sharply against it.

"Then why are you making me take it?" He whined, and Draco grinned to himself. He had just won, and he knew it. It wasn't 'why are you _trying_ to make me', it came out 'why _are_ you making me', and that was all the difference in the world. He pulled a sheet of parchment and a quill from Harry's desk and held them out to him.

"Because it'll do you good. Now, get writing." Still grumbling, Harry took the offered writing materials and sat down to compose his letter, requesting a change of schedule and updated book list.

Draco looked on, smiling contentedly. He may not have always gotten what he wanted, but he got it most of the time. And what he got this time, in its own small way, was a lifeline. If Harry Potter didn't really hate him, then he had the beginnings of a way to return his family line to good standing in wizarding society, something that he considered a priority after his father was publicly arrested.

He had also, he realized, gained a hand of friendship, though the owner of the hand was currently grumbling about his schedule. And somewhere inside Draco Malfoy, an eleven year old boy began smiling as the hand he had been offering was finally accepted.


	8. House of Threads and a Bargain

A/N- The plot begins to thicken! (or "develop", actually... ah, whatever) Enjoy!

(Chapters 7 and 8 are being posted together)

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Chapter VIII – House of Threads and a Bargain

For a second time, Harry found himself lying in a field of flowers, and for a moment, he was confused. Then there was a sudden flash, a recognition, and he recalled clearly the last time he had been in such a situation. He hadn't thought of the dream he'd had on the night Draco had shown up, mostly because of Draco himself, but he recalled that the flowers then had been daisies. Now, though, the entire field seemed to be awash with blood, filled with blood-red poppies as far as the eye could see. It was a dazzling sight, but he felt himself beginning to get sick at the reference his brain had automatically provided. Harry Potter was quite tired of seeing blood.

After taking a moment to calm his nerves, he recalled the girl he had seen here previously. He was sure it was the same place, as the farmhouse in the distance was still there, just the same as it had been. Only the flowers had changed. He glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of her again. The last time, well, she hadn't been precisely helpful, but she hadn't killed him, and that, he considered, was close enough to being his friend to count in a place like this.

His quick survey was enough to tell him that there were no other humans, or human-shaped beings, in the area. Making a bit of a snap judgment, Harry decided to head toward the farmhouse. If there was anyone else here, he figured, they would probably be there. He set off quickly, but even so, he arrived at the structure much more quickly than he had expected to. It felt as though his every step had been equal to five, like being on a moving sidewalk, though he could see no such apparatus. He looked around again, wondering if perhaps there were mirrors or some other such trick that were convincing him that the space was much larger than it was in reality. No, he convinced himself, it wasn't a trick. The fields really did stretch on and on. It hurt his head to think about it, so he turned away to look at the farmhouse instead.

His initial thought was that the building was made of wood, but up close, he could see that he was wrong. It was made of some strange substance that appeared to be... moving. He leaned in closer, peering at it. It continued to shift before his eyes. Hesitantly, he extended a finger and poked it experimentally, performing a little half-jump back in fear that it might somehow move to attack him. The wall remained a wall. Harry moved back toward it, this time laying an experimental palm against the surface. It continued to writhe beneath the flesh, seemingly unaffected by its presence. A light went on in his brain.

'It's made of ... string... or maybe thread, or cord or twine.' He thought in amazement. And indeed it was. Thin, thin strands of some sort of fiber that were woven and tangled and twisted into a solid wall. Even the windows, Harry realized, were merely gaps in the strands, which carefully moved around the openings, keeping their rectangular form perfectly intact.

Harry withdrew his hand in astonishment. He had seen many strange and fantastical things since he had received his Hogwarts letter, from moving staircases and ceilings that matched the sky to three-headed dogs and even the thestrals, but this was somehow unlike any of it. And, despite the fact that he could tell he was in a dream, it felt as real and strong as the stone walls of Hogwarts castle.

Lost in his wonderment, Harry approached the door to the house, which stood halfway open on its woven hinges. Harry touched it lightly, marveling as it swung easily inward, the strands pulling and adjusting as it did so. He moved to step over the threshold, only to cry out as he was pulled back roughly by one shoulder. He stumbled a bit until he found his footing, the hand removed back to its owner.

Harry faced that owner as soon as he had his balance back, halfway into a crouch and prepared to defend himself. He straightened a moment later. It was a woman, many years older than the girl he had met before. She gave him a sharp look, but one which quickly softened as a sense of recognition appeared on her face.

"It is much too soon for you to enter there, Mr. Potter." She chastised him softly. Her voice was rich and warm, and Harry suddenly felt that if he had a grandmother, she might be much like this. He half expected her to materialize a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies. The feeling was tempered slightly, though, by the hints of that strange resonance in her voice and by her appearance. Though her age was somehow apparent, her face held but a few wrinkles, and her hair, though sprinkled through with strands of grey, was a luxurious black, the grey serving only to emphasize the depth of the darker color. It was the eyes, though, that caught Harry's attention. They were the same sun-on-sea color as the girl he remembered from before.

After a pause, Harry found his voice, though his questions came out half-formed as he thought them.

"Who? What happened to the girl?" He was suddenly struck with worry for the enigmatic being who had spoken with him before.

"Do not worry, Mr. Potter. She is here as well, though in hiding at the moment." There was merriment in her voice. Harry's gaze instinctively turned to the door he had almost stepped through a moment before. The woman laughed.

"No, no, she's not in there. I assure you, she is quite fine. You needn't pay it any more mind. We must get to the reason for your visit, before we run out of time." She paused, as if contemplating, or listening to a faint noise far in the distance.

"You have done well, Mr. Potter, as we expected you to. But the strands of your fate and others' continue to twist and curl, much like our walls here. As it stands, more than your own life is already in your hands, and I don't doubt that more burdens will be placed on you in the future. You are one of the destined ones, Mr. Potter, and their lives are never easy. They are always remembered, but few understand the hardships they face on their way to their final glory." She paused again briefly.

"There are great changes happening, Mr. Potter, very great changes. Waves of change, which are affecting the entire design. It was laid out from the beginning, and such changes bring with them wondrous things, or else utter disaster. As it stands, we have no way of knowing which it might come to be. It is not normally that we approach mortals with problems such as these. We have a long history of non-interference. Even now, should we become personally involved, it would unleash such things as you have never dreamed of, in brightest fantasy or darkest nightmare. We have no wish to become involved, Mr. Potter. But we find it unavoidable unless we find the help we require. And that, Mr. Potter, is where you come in."

She regarded him kindly, and he felt as though she might have wished to embrace him. It would not have been the type of embrace one seeks. Rather, it would have been the kind given to young boys sent off to wars. It was not a hopeful sensation, knowing that she held those kinds of feelings about his fate, and Harry suddenly found himself scared.

"You are one of the destined ones; born to change the world, Mr. Potter. Your line shines brightly against all others. And this is why we require your help. You, of all, are the only one with a hope of gaining the skill necessary. But, Mr. Potter, we do not ask this of you without something to offer in return." She waited to continue until she was sure she had his full attention.

"We offer you our time, and our influence. For we hold influence over realms outside this one. There is something you have lost, Mr. Potter, which we may well be able to return to you. It will not be easy, but, if you truly are able to help us, we will find it in our power. This is the bargain we offer you, Mr. Potter. We have the power to lift the veil, and we offer it to you, in return for your help."

Harry had barely the time to comprehend what was said before the flowers and woman together swirled in his vision and faded to black.

Harry Potter woke up smiling that morning, but he couldn't remember what he had dreamed that had been so good.


	9. Working? At the Car Wash

A/N- Sorry these are a day late, I got kinda busy there. Anyway, I promised up to chapter 15 in exchange for 25 reviews, and I got 'em! Thanks to everyone who left a review, this is to all of you, though I'm too tired to type in everyone's names... hehe... sorry. I still love you all, have no fear!

After this (massive) update, don't expect more for probably a couple weeks. I'll be working on this, of course, but I have exams coming up, so I have to study, too.

These chapters are pretty raw, my betas will actually get them tomorrow, so I might make some changes later, but they shouldn't be major ones. I happen to like it the way it is. Enjoy, and please review!!

##Chapters 9-15 uploaded together, 01/02/05##

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Chapter IX – Working? At the Car Wash

"What are you so happy about?" Draco grumbled the next morning as the two boys exited the Dursley house in the direction of the driveway. The Dursley's car needed to be washed, at least according to Aunt Petunia. Harry could see nothing dirty about it, but refrained from saying so.

"Hm?" He looked over at the blond, wearing the same smile he'd had since he'd woken up. "Oh, I don't know. Good dream, I suppose." He shrugged off the question as he stooped to fill a bucket with water from the garden hose. Draco gave him a little frown, one that said, "I'm not satisfied with that, and you know it." Still, he granted that there wasn't much else that the Gryffindor would have to be happy about that morning. Their wake-up call had been as rude as ever, and the breakfast was hardly fit to be called "food". Draco sighed, taking the bucket from Harry and adding soap as instructed.

Draco was most definitely not having a pleasant day. While Harry's "good dream" seemed to have wiped all memory of the letter that had arrived from his mind, Draco hadn't forgotten it for a moment. He was fairly worried about it, in fact. He knew that he had certainly not made any friends in the "Light" side, though now with the possible exception of their great "hero" himself, but he could easily imagine his reception on the "Dark" side if he went to them for asylum. He snorted.

Asylum was the last thing he'd be given. Once they got through with him, the beating he'd taken a week previously would seem like a few light love taps. At the rate he was going, his name would be anathema to both sides within a month. His only hope was that whoever Dumbledore sent to check up on the two of them wouldn't be too biased against him simply for his history and bloodline. It was a long shot, and Draco had no delusions about suddenly being accepted by the very people he'd antagonized for years and years, but it was about the only hope he had left. There was no option of neutrality open for him- each side would believe him to be working for the other, and one or the other would have him killed. Rather suddenly, he understood why Harry had such a gloomy outlook about his own future. How it felt to have a lot of people who wanted you dead was something he could've lived quite happily not knowing.

Draco was interrupted out of his pessimistic thought process as Harry shoved a cloth into his hand. He looked at it warily. It seemed old, if the holes in it were any indication, and it was covered with odd-looking stains. He cautiously held it at about arm's length, suspended delicately between two fingers. He regarded Harry accusingly, which was hard to do, as Harry seemed to be quietly laughing at him.

"Oi, Potter," He emphasized the last name, gaining Harry's attention and an annoyed glare at the same time, "What, exactly, am I supposed to be doing with this filthy thing?" He waved the rag around a bit for emphasis. Harry paused a moment, then an evil smirk crossed his face.

"Well, Malfoy, we're washing the car." he replied, mimicking the blond's tone perfectly. "So you," He snatched the rag out of Draco's fingers swiftly, "Need this!" With speed that Draco would have been envious of, had he had time to contemplate it, Harry dunked the rag into the sudsy water and whipped it straight at Draco's chest (which, on this lovely day, was covered with Harry's second-favorite Chudley Cannons shirt; another gift from Ron, which Draco claimed he was wearing only because it was the least Gryffindor-ish thing Harry owned besides the green shirt, which was in the wash).

Draco shrieked. He would later deny this vehemently, but he shrieked. And jumped backward as fast as he could, resulting in a not-so-graceful landing on his backside in the Dursley's front lawn.

"POTTER!!" Draco's rage was palpable, but Harry didn't notice at all. He was laughing so hard he was doubled over, his own, dry rag clutched to his stomach as he tried to breathe.

"You... that... ha!... the.." Harry struggled to get a sentence out between gasps for air. He couldn't remember a time he'd seen anything so funny as Draco Malfoy screaming like a little girl and falling all over himself to escape a wet rag, of all things. He had never wished so much for a Polaroid camera as he did at that moment. He looked at Draco's scowling face and immediately started laughing all over again, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes.

Draco glared at the shaking, hunched figure of his 'nemesis', wondering what would happen if he did try to curse him. He was seconds away from grabbing his wand and finding out when an even better idea occurred to him. With a glance to make sure that Harry was much too preoccupied with attempting to breathe to notice his actions, Draco crawled over to the bucket of soapsuds. He dunked the rag as quietly as he could, then held it a bit above the water so some of the excess could drain off. He didn't want his one chance to end in failure because the rag was too wet to fly straight, after all. With a smirk to rival the greatest of Slytherins', he called out in a sing-song voice.

"Oh, Har-ry..." As soon as Harry lifted his head, Draco launched the projectile with all his might, letting out a whoop of glee as it smacked the Gryffindor right in the face. Harry, momentarily stunned, fell backward in much the same manner as Draco had, though without the sound effects. He abruptly pulled the soaked piece of cloth off his face, spitting out the bit of soapy water that had managed to invade his mouth and wiping the back of his hand across his face a few times to get the water off. Draco, meanwhile, was engaged in performing the second part of his hastily formed plan.

As soon as the rag hit its target, Draco scrambled to his feet, hauling the bucket up with him. He grunted a bit at the weight; he hadn't realized water could be so heavy. Nevertheless, he grinned as he pulled the bucket up higher, high enough, in fact, to position it over the head of the spluttering boy on the grass. Harry managed to clear his eyes, only to have two gallons of soapy water dumped square over his head in a whoosh.

Draco, now as gleeful as he could ever remember being, dancingly stepped away several paces, dropping the bucket on the driveway as he went. Once the ribbon of cement separated the two boys, he began cackling at the sight. Harry was now completely drenched from head to toe, his hair matted down and decorated with a few of the bubbles that had managed to hang on, his t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin, spitting out soapsuds for the second time in as many minutes and trying to clear his eyes well enough to glare at the blond. The throwing of the rag, he admitted, was probably deserved. Or at least an expected retaliation. An entire bucket of sudsy water, now that was war.

Harry took a few seconds to clear the water from his eyes, nose, mouth and ears, using the time to think of a suitable revenge. The sight of the hose, lying close by and still turned on, gave him all the idea he needed. He stood slowly, using one hand ostensibly for leverage, but in reality taking hold of the snakelike length of green rubber. Draco never saw it coming.

In a flash, Harry was up, his thumb held tightly over the end of the hose providing the spray with the pressure to reach Draco at fifteen feet away. The Slytherin boy was drenched before he could tell what was happening. Startled and wet, he dove behind the Dursley's car, seeking refuge from the onslaught of the hose.

Harry grinned, taking his thumb away from the hose soon after Draco disappeared from range. He might not have won, but at the very least he had broken even. Or so he thought. So fast that Harry didn't have time to react, a wet mass of Draco slammed itself into his ribs at an angle, very effectively knocking the wind out of him and tackling him to the ground at the same time. He landed with a heavy "oof" of air on the now muddy ground, a wet, panting, and very pleased with himself Draco Malfoy sprawled half on top of him. It took Harry a second to get his breath back, and when he finally had it and glanced at the blond, he was met with the self-assured Slytherin grin he had seen so many times for five years.

"I win." Draco panted, still grinning madly. He was mildly in shock at how much a short little water fight like that could take out of him, and resolved to take up jogging or some other such sport before attempting such maneuvers again. Harry scowled briefly at him, then smacked him with the evil rag which had started the whole thing and then made itself disappear into the grass, momentarily forgotten.

"Only until next time, Malfoy. Only until next time." Harry vaguely wished that it had come out a bit more threateningly, but he was so close to laughing that it really didn't. In fact, it just made Draco grin more, and Harry couldn't help but grin along with him.

"Whatever you say, Potter." Draco relaxed, feeling no compulsion to move at all, and let his head find its resting place in the area between Harry's chest and abs, the Slytherin's ear and cheek pasting themselves to the wet material of his t-shirt. Harry wondered for a moment if he should shove the blond off, but for some reason he didn't feel the need to. Draco's skin felt warm through the wet cotton, and the sun was already beginning to dry them off, so Harry simply stayed where he was, wondering at the sensation of the warmth combined with the sudden cooling power of the small puffs of air coming from the region of Draco's nose.

Languidly, and with no real thought at all for what he was doing, Harry ran his hand lightly through the streaks of wetly darkened platinum blond hair that blossomed on his chest. Draco shivered slightly and... nuzzled?... yes, definitely nuzzled… his cheek tighter against the brunet's chest. The reaction was intriguing, and Harry began running his fingers through the blond locks again when he was suddenly interrupted. By a very familiar voice.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting?" The voice was laughing. Both teen stiffened, for the first time realizing exactly what position they were in, and exactly how it must have looked; Draco with his face buried in Harry's torso, Harry's hand in his hair, legs tangled together... They shot apart faster than they had crashed together, both scrambling backwards in awkward crab-crawls with bright red faces. Harry finally looked up at their visitor. He had already recognized the voice, but the look confirmed it.

"Remus!" Harry shot to his feet and ran forward to embrace the man who was closest, anymore, to being Harry's family. He knew Sirius would've wanted him to feel that way, and besides that, Remus Lupin acted more like a kind uncle than a teacher or superior in the Order.

Draco watched the two exchange pleasantries for a moment, the dread that had been seeping into his heart since the night before coming back full force. His life, then, hung on the opinion of a teacher he hadn't exactly treated well, who knew exactly how he had always treated Harry and his friends, and had no particular love of Draco's family. With a sigh, Draco stepped forward to meet his fate, happy at least that Dumbledore hadn't sent someone who downright hated him; one of the Weasleys, perhaps. Then suddenly, Harry had turned and was smiling at him, and for some reason, he wasn't quite so worried anymore.


	10. A Test in Good Faith

Chapter X – A Test in Good Faith

It took about five seconds from the time Remus Lupin arrived at Privet Drive for him to send both boys inside to wash their newly collected dirt off and change into dry clothes. He watched their retreat into the house with some amusement, as well as a bit of wonder. If anyone had told him the day before that he would be seeing Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy not attempting to kill each other, he probably would have questioned their sanity. Even his one year at Hogwarts had taught him that much, not to mention all the information Sirius had given him, gleaned from his correspondence with his godson in the following two years. But what he had seen so far was more than just a grudging truce- the two boys were acting very much like friends, if not... Well, he would refrain from making assumptions at this point.

From what he had gathered after Harry had somewhat introduced Draco (Remus was obviously already acquainted with him, so it didn't take long), the boys were supposed to have been washing the Dursleys' car. He gave the vehicle a critical glance. Apart from the few wayward drops that had landed on the hood, the car was bone dry. He sighed. With all that would probably be happening quite soon, he doubted they'd get back to it. A few quick flicks of his wand had the car cleaned and waxed. He nodded to himself. That would leave the boys free, which he was sure they would be grateful for.

When Dumbledore had stopped by the house at Grimmauld Place to tell him that he would be visiting Harry, Remus had been happy to do so, but had wondered exactly why he was suddenly being sent. Dumbledore's explanation had been rather shocking, to say the least. His first reaction upon hearing the Draco Malfoy had apparently moved in to number 4 Privet Drive was to immediately go and check on Harry's safety, but Dumbledore had stopped him and told him not to worry, and that Harry was quite fine. He then explained exactly why it was that Remus was being sent- his job, quite simply, was to gauge whether the Slytherin could be trusted by the Order or not.

Harry obviously had given his approval by not hexing the boy; in fact, according to the information Dumbledore had provided him access to, there had been no hexes cast in the house for the entire summer, and no offensive or defensive magic of any kind had been utilized. Dumbledore had determined that the best way to determine Draco's trustworthiness would be to send someone close to Harry to check on the boys. He would have preferred Sirius, of course, but that was impossible, and Remus was obviously the next best choice. Harry trusted him, and he was almost like family; it was a perfect selection in the eyes of the headmaster. Remus, however, found that he wished someone else had been chosen.

The werewolf would normally find Harry's opinion to be quite sufficient on the matter of whether Draco could be trusted, but he also understood the tight position the Order was in, especially considering the high position Lucius Malfoy had held with You-Know-Who for so long. To be wary of his son was a natural reaction on their part. Making an incorrect decision at this point could be disastrous- if the Order put their trust in the boy and were betrayed, it could mean utter defeat; on the other hand, if they did not and Harry did, they could lose him forever.

It was at times like these that Remus Lupin wished that he wasn't the only one of the Marauders left. He would feel much better about the whole thing if he had Sirius or James around for support (Peter, of course, was not worth mentioning). But of course he knew where they both would stand on the issue- they would have had full faith in Harry's judge of character, and that would be that. Remus just wished it were really that easy.

The boys returned a few minutes later, Draco unhappily sporting one of the last clean shirts left in Harry's wardrobe- a red one with a Gryffindor lion emblazoned on the front. Harry, sporting his own House-wear, was having trouble not laughing at the expression of utter loathing on the Slytherin boy's face. Remus, also, found it amusing. The picture was certainly an incongruous one. The boys' conversation, though, as they came out of the house, was what really caught Remus' attention.

"-don't see why you couldn't just do laundry instead of making me wear this!" Draco was complaining, obviously about the t-shirt. Harry sighed audibly.

"And when did I have time to do that? Between keeping you occupied and doing chores around here, I've been rather busy. Or perhaps you missed that?" Harry was doing his best to sound annoyed, Remus could tell, but it was coming out all wrong between the fits of laughter that kept threatening to escape. "And by the way, do you know how much you really do look like a ferret when you scowl like that?" At this point, Harry couldn't keep his laughter contained anymore, and ran to Remus for cover as Draco glared murderously at him.

"Prat! I do not!" By this time both boys had reached Remus' position on the lawn, and both quieted, instinctively realizing that he probably had something to say. For a moment, though, he simply stood silently. Then, with a small sigh and a look that said he had made up his mind, he addressed the two. Or rather, Harry.

"Harry," he began, looking apologetic, and for a moment Harry was afraid he was there to arrest Draco for something or other. The startlement was obviously evident, as Remus halted whatever he was going to say to reassure the boy. "Don't worry, Harry, I don't intend to force Mr. Malfoy out. I just wish to talk to him for a while alone. Would that be possible?" Harry thought for a moment.

"Well, I suppose you can use my room, then. I'm sure there's something else that Aunt Petunia wants done." Remus was amused to see Draco's eyes roll at the words, rather than Harry's. He nodded.

"That would do just fine, I'm sure. I presume that Mr. Malfoy can lead the way?" Remus smiled kindly at the boy, who had begun looking a bit worried at the thought of being questioned alone. He was glad to see that his and Harry's encouraging looks seemed to be helping the blonde calm down. 'Or maybe yours has nothing to do with it, Remus.' He reminded himself, a thought which made him smile more broadly. At the very least, the two seemed on the way to becoming very good friends, and he was happy for them. He knew that James and Sirius would be, as well, though he could imagine Sirius complaining loudly (outside Harry's hearing, of course) about exactly who he was becoming "friends" with. Remus felt a little tug on his heart at the vision, a feeling which he quickly buried. Such things could be saved for a better time.

A few minutes later, Remus found himself sitting in Harry's desk chair, facing a distracted and seemingly nervous Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin boy was seated on Harry's bed, and was looking out the window. Remus looked, and noticed immediately that the area of the Dursley's garden Harry had chosen to weed could be easily seen through the window by a person sitting on the bed. He smiled to himself, and made a mental note to congratulate Harry later on his thinking. For now, however, he cleared his throat to gain Draco's attention. The boy quickly composed himself, wiping all traces of uncertainty from his face with practiced ease.

"Well, to start with, do you mind if I call you Draco?" Remus felt it better to start with something boring and unobtrusive than the heavy questions he was sure they would come to soon. The blonde looked startled by the question for a moment, then shook his head.

"Not really. It's fine if you'd like to." The answer was politely toned, courteous to a fault. Remus resigned himself to the fact that he would have to make friends with the boy before any questions would really be answered. And he felt there might be a simple way to do so.

"Draco it is then. You, in turn, may call me Remus. Alright?" Draco nodded suspiciously, wondering if there might be some trap here. He was rarely allowed to refer to an adult by his or her first name; in fact, the only adult he could currently think of who allowed it was Professor Snape, but he was practically family. Or was. Draco really couldn't be sure at this point.

Remus smiled at him. "So, then, I suppose we have to get into the more difficult things. How have you been surviving on Mrs. Weasley's pot pies?" Draco's head snapped to attention, and he blinked several times. Remus laughed. "I hear from her all the time about how much Harry loves her pot pies, and how she's sending him another three today and so on. I assume they make up the majority of the diet here?" Draco grimaced.

"It's alright." He shrugged, still not quite letting his guard down, though he was beginning to really believe that the man across from him really didn't mean any harm. Despite all he had heard Third Year when Professor Lupin was exposed as a werewolf, and his father's ranting about bad bloodlines and all of that, the man seemed decent enough (though his clothes were a bit shabby). And Harry seemed to know him and trust him well. Draco realized how little he had been aware of- like that Harry had been such good friends with their temporary DADA teacher. Not, he realized, that he had actually been looking. It had been far easier to assume.

"I don't mind the pies," he elaborated, "They're good, we just have far, far too many of them. I don't know how she ever expected Harry to eat all of that. The two of us together don't even have a hope of finishing all those." Draco smiled, letting a little of his amusement show through. Remus considered this an improvement.

"Well, then. I shall pass along your compliments. Or perhaps you can do so yourself one of these days." Remus smiled secretively. "Until then, though, I do need to ask the important questions. I know quite well that your father probably had you build up immunity to truth potions, so I won't bother with such things." He could read in Draco's eyes that he was impressed, and therefore that his assumption had been correct. He also suddenly felt pity for the boy. Building up immunity to any spell, curse or potion could be a painful process, and this one had probably been started quite young, before the boy left for Hogwarts. "I must, then, simply trust that you will be truthful with me. I hope that you will be, and I know that Harry believes you will be, or he may have insisted on staying. So, do I have your cooperation on this?" Draco nodded, attempting to swallow the lump that was rising in his throat.

"Well then." Remus sat a bit forward on the chair, not enough to be threatening, but enough to show that he was serious. "Why here?"

Draco found himself caught off guard again, for the second time in as many minutes. "What do you mean?" He didn't quite understand what his former professor was asking.

"When you left Malfoy Manor, you came here. My first question is, why? Of all the places in the world you could have chosen, why this one?" Remus explained the question succinctly, but not unkindly. He observed as Draco thought the question over carefully.

"I don't really know." He finally came up with, Remus raised an eyebrow, not sure if the blonde was really being truthful. He was surprised, however, when Draco continued. "I just left. I ran for a while, then Apparated here. I don't know what made me think of it, though. Logically, Harry Potter's house would be the last place they would look for me," at this, Remus nodded thoughtfully, "but I don't really remember if that's what I was thinking then or not. I just... ended up here." He ended with a little half shrug, a small sign that he hoped the answer was acceptable. Remus felt it was.

"If we made you leave here, would you go to the Death Eaters?" The question was harsh, Remus knew, but the reaction was immediate.

"Maybe before... all of this. Not now, though." Draco suddenly seemed very far away.

"Why?" Remus softened his tone, trying his best not to make Draco shy away from the questions.

"There's nothing there for me. My father was one of Them for years and years, and now he's in Azkaban. My mother is dead, isn't she?" The question seemed to come out of the blue, and Remus barely even registered it at first. Once he did, though, he answered as simply as he could.

"Yes. I'm sorry." He felt his heart break a little at the look that crossed the boy's face for a second. It was obvious that he was restraining himself from crying.

"I can't forgive them for that. She wasn't one of Them, but she never did anything against Them either. She just went along, and then they came to get me, and she told them to leave, and they wouldn't..." Draco lost himself in the memory for a moment, then recovered himself. "I would never go to them. I will never forgive them, and they will never forgive me for running. Even if I wanted to go back, I have no place there. Anyway, I could never bow to that..." Draco seemed not to have words, but Remus felt he understood.

"And besides all that..." Draco paused, and looked out the window again as his voice softened. "He's different... than I thought... And I think, his way might be better... Is that enough?" The boy looked worried that the answer wouldn't be satisfactory.

Remus smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure it is. I have a question, though, that I would like to ask. Only to satisfy my own curiosity, so please don't feel obligated." Draco nodded his consent. "Why, then, if you don't support the Dark Lord, have you been so antagonistic toward Harry?" At the look on Draco's face, he felt the need to qualify the question further. "If you don't have an answer, that's fine. As I said, it is only for my ow-" He was cut off as Draco began to speak.

"He made me mad." Draco bit his lip, as though it were painful to admit aloud. "Did you know, the first time I met him was actually before any of those friends of his did? Granger and Weasley and the lot?" Remus admitted that he had been unaware of this. "I met him in Madame Malkin's, about a month before the start of term. I didn't even recognize him. Isn't that funny? Years of my father ranting about him, and I didn't even know who he was." Draco smiled to himself. Remus had to agree, it did have its irony.

"I must have said something, but I don't think he liked me much, then. And then I met him, officially, by name, you know, on the first day of term, and he would barely even speak to me. By that point he had already met the Weasleys, so I can expect what he was told about my family. I suppose I might have been a bit of a prat about it, but I was trying to make friends with him, and he just... wouldn't, I guess. I remember what he said, too. He said, "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks." I was so angry- I mean, no one had ever said anything like that to me, ever. I guess I got it into my head that I should hate him, and I probably said something nasty, and it just went from there. Of course, my father was all for me playing pranks on him and so on, so I suppose that didn't help, and I'm sure he assumed that I was doing all that because I supported the Dark Lord and he was himself..."

By this point, Draco seemed to be monologueing, forgetting entirely about the man sitting in the room with him, listening intently. Remus was beginning to become aware, as he thought over the boys' shared history, that perhaps all the evidence of Draco Malfoy following his father was tied up in his feud with Harry Potter, which wasn't about the war at all. And that, if the feud had been with any other student, the blonde wouldn't be under nearly as much scrutiny by the Order members. Well, the feud and his distaste for Muggle-born students. This was the obvious follow up. Draco answered the question succinctly, but with a maturity Remus hadn't expected.

"I don't really hate Muggles. I'm expected to, though, so I act like I do. I certainly hate the ones here, though. As for the mudbloods," Remus winced, and Draco offered a swift apology. "I don't really hate them either, per se. The problem is that the pure wizarding bloodlines are becoming more and more diluted. Pretty soon, there won't be any left at all, and any traces of the Pure Bloods' hereditary magic will cease to exist." Remus blinked. It was far more than he was expecting, which was something along the lines of 'they're scum', and far better as well. He nodded thoughtfully, mulling over the boy's answer for a moment before forming his next question.

"And you and Harry have begun getting along?" Somehow, it felt like the correct question to ask. Draco smiled, and glanced out the window to where Harry was still working on the weeding. What Remus didn't know, and Draco did, was that the weeding had been done days ago, and that there wasn't a single weed anywhere on the Dursley's property. He would remember to thank Harry for the support later. Remus did, however, file away the glance for future thought.

"I didn't think we would. At first I thought he would kick me out right away. But I guess it worked out." Draco shrugged his slim shoulders and tilted his head a bit. "Is that all?"

Generally, Remus knew, Draco's question would carry a distinct tone of annoyance and distaste for being held for questioning. This time, though, it seemed to be an honest question. Something had changed about the Slytherin boy, he was different than Remus remembered, though he couldn't make a judgment on when the change had occurred. He simply seemed more... normal. Like a normal boy his age would be, not as much like the spoiled rich brat he had been. It was, Remus felt, a change for the better. The much better. And somehow, that change in demeanor, rather than Draco's answers to his questions, was what truly made him confident in the decision he had had almost made since he walked into the Dursleys' yard earlier.

Remus stood up from Harry's desk chair, dusting his clothing off (he had opted for Muggle attire, though it still seemed to have slightly fraying seams and edges, much like his usual robes). "Well, then. I think its time you and I went and rescued Harry from his labors, what do you say?"

Draco agreed, and the two headed down the stairs and into the backyard where Harry was "working". He had turned at the sound of the door, and grinned upon seeing the two of them. "Everything alright, then?" He asked Draco specifically. The blond nodded, smiling right back.

"Yeah. I think so, anyway." He deferred to Remus, who nodded his assent.

"Much more than alright. In fact, if you're interested, Dumbledore gave me this. With, of course, the stipulation that I use it at my discretion, but..." Remus trailed off, giving Harry a knowing grin as he passed him a slip of paper. Harry read what was written inside, then broke out in a wide grin.

"You mean it? Both of us?" He resembled a little child on Christmas morning, given the best gift he could think of. Remus nodded.

"So, if you'd like to pack, you can both move in tonight. I believe Mrs. Weasley is making pot pie." Remus smiled as both boys groaned, though Draco not as much as Harry. He was quite confused, and Harry suddenly realized it.

"It's alright." He reassured Draco, still grinning madly. "Trust me, I think you'll like where we're going. It's a good surprise!" Harry's excitement was contagious, and Draco decided to trust him. The two were packed in only a few minutes, as Draco really had nothing of his own but his wand. They scurried about Harry's room for a few minutes, making sure Harry hadn't forgotten anything. By the time they were done, Remus had reappeared.

"I spoke to your Aunt and Uncle, Harry." Remus' face showed precisely how much he'd enjoyed the activity. "They are... aware... that you are leaving for the remainder of the summer holiday." Draco's eyes widened and he looked at Harry nervously. Harry smiled at him.

"Good surprise, remember?" He reminded Draco shortly. The blond took a deep breath and collected himself. Remus waited a moment, then continued.

"Are we all ready, then?" The boys nodded. "Alright. Hold on to your luggage and take hold of this, please." Remus produced a large, brass key from a pocket and held it out to the boys. "Just a simple Portkey, no worries. Here we go, then."

A few moments later, there was hardly any sign that anyone had ever lived in the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive.


	11. Grimmauld

Chapter XI- Grimmauld

They reappeared in a small alley, Harry assumed it to be near Grimmauld Place, so they were somewhere in London. He couldn't shake the tingly feeling of excitement that he had had ever since Remus had showed him the piece of paper from Dumbledore with the address on it. Whatever the test had been, Draco had passed, and that, too, made him excited. And a bit worried. There were people at Grimmauld Place who he knew would be much less accepting of the idea of Draco Malfoy in their midst than he and Remus had been. That was probably why, Harry realized, Dumbledore had sent Remus in the first place. He would give fair judgment. The Weasleys might take some convincing, Harry started going down the list of regulars at Grimmauld, but they would probably be fine as long as Harry himself gave his assurances. Tonks he wasn't sure of. Mad-Eye Moody would never trust any Malfoy, but then again, Harry wasn't sure if Moody even trusted himself. The others from the Ministry, he supposed he didn't really know them enough yet to tell what they might think. Despite the movement out of the Dursley home, Harry knew that they were far from out of the woods yet.

Draco, meanwhile, was looking around with distaste. Whatever he had been expecting, it certainly wasn't a dark, dirty alleyway in Muggle London. "Where are we?" He asked, his usual sneer suddenly becoming evident in his voice. Remus looked worried at its appearance, worried that he had made the wrong choice. Harry, though, knew that the blond was worried, and answered him accordingly.

"Don't worry. We can't go directly there, because it's protected, and it's in the middle of Muggle London. We just have to walk a little. Right, Remus?" He looked up at the older man, obviously seeking his support. Remus nodded.

"Yes, that's right. It's only a block or so." With that, Remus picked up Hedwig's cage (the owl herself was absent, though Harry assured them when they left that she would be able to find him upon her return) and began walking toward the open end of the alleyway. Draco and Harry each lifted their ends of Harry's trunk and followed quickly after him.

Harry found that Remus hadn't lied when he'd said it was only a block or so. In fact, they had barely been walking a minute when they came to a corner with a street sign marked "Grimmauld Place". The street looked completely normal, with clean, nice-looking Muggle homes up and down both sides. They walked along it quickly, before coming to a stop between numbers 11 and 13. Draco looked around, confused.

"Where-" Harry knew exactly what was going to be asked, having gone through the same thing the year before, and interrupted.

"Hold on a second. And memorize that, quickly." He gestured to a folded piece of paper that was resting in Remus' hand. Hesitantly, Draco took it, and read it. Then appeared to read it again. Finally, he looked up at Harry and nodded, signaling that he had it memorized. Harry grinned.

"Now, think about it." He watched as Draco ran through the short line in his head, doing the same himself.

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

And, just as it had all times previously, Number 12 seemed to swell into being. Harry watched Draco's mouth drop open in shock. It was amazing, how the house appeared without being noticed by anyone else on the street or in the buildings to either side.

"Is that...?" Draco didn't quite manage to get the whole question out, but Harry understood anyway.

"Yeah, that's where we're going. It's... well," Harry's voice took on a sadder tone, "It used to be my godfather's house." He looked up at the building, a bit sadly. He hadn't been back, not after Sirius' death. The house looked the same, but he knew it wouldn't feel the same, somehow. Remus rested a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"It may have been. It's your house now, Harry." He said it with a sad smile; he felt the same way Harry did about the house.

Harry looked at him, surprise clearly evident in his expression. "What d'you mean, it's mine... It belongs to the Or-" Harry shut himself up quickly, remembering that such things weren't to be talked about on the street. Remus sensed his distress, and quickly guided both boys to the front door and inside.

Draco found himself upset that he didn't get a look around, as Remus hustled both of them upstairs to one of the bedrooms. Harry was surprised; he had been expecting to be greeted with more of the Order members, as he had the first time he'd been stolen away to Grimmauld Place. Suddenly, he felt quite lonely.

"Well, then. This will be you boys' room. I am sorry we don't have more space, but we're expecting a few more guests today or tomorrow, and the girls will need a room for themselves, after all..." Remus trailed off, giving the boys time to evaluate the space. There were two large, easily Queen or King sized beds shoved into the small space, leaving little room for anything else. There was a small fireplace in the corner in which a fire was burning merrily, and a small rug just inside the door. Besides that, there was little room to even place Harry's trunk. They managed it, however, then both sat on the nearest of the two beds to hear anything else Remus had to say. There wasn't much.

"You'll probably want some time to get settled. Harry, I'll leave it up to you to decide how much Draco should be told about all of this." If Harry was surprised by the use of Draco's first name, he hid it admirably well. "He'll probably need the grand tour as well. Also, you may wish to decide where you'll be sleeping. We expect Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom to be arriving later today, and they will be sharing this room with the two of you. I am sorry about that; we just have a few more live-ins than before. I think that about does it. If you'll excuse me, I have to go inform the rest that you've arrived." Remus looked anything but pleased about the prospect of explaining Draco Malfoy's presence at the Order's headquarters, but he bid them goodbye and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

As soon as the door was closed, Draco turned on Harry faster than he had thought possible.

"What's going on? Where are we? And what in the world is this 'Order of the Phoenix' and how is this your house if you aren't living in it?" Draco's glare seemed to pierce right through him, the lazy glares he had gotten used to suddenly turned pointed and cold. In other words, Draco Malfoy was scared. Harry gave him a little smile, realizing how easy Draco was to read when you got to know him, then set out hastily to explain the origins of the House of Black, managing to ignore the first question for the time being. About ten minutes later, Draco's glare had softened again, and he was nodding thoughtfully.

"So, this is really your house?" He looked around the room again, this time appreciating it a little differently.

"I guess." Harry shrugged. "I don't think-" He stopped short, suddenly remembering the family tree that so stubbornly refused to come off the wall downstairs. "Maybe it's not." He suddenly realized, turning a wide-eyed gaze at Draco, who suddenly felt like a deer in headlights.

"What?" he questioned nervously, unconsciously straightening the much-hated Gryffindor t-shirt he was wearing.

"It might be... your house, actually..." Harry dropped off into thought. He wasn't quite sure how wizarding laws looked at inheritance. If property went to the next blood relative then maybe... maybe it wasn't really his house at all. Draco, meanwhile, looked scandalized.

"MINE? How would it be mine!? I've never even been here before now." He gave Harry a look that clearly said 'you're crazy'. Harry shook his head.

"No, it might be. Come see." He grabbed Draco's hand off the comforter beside him, and began dragging the blond out of the room. He kept dragging until they reached the wall downstairs, where the Black family tree had resisted all methods of removal. Draco gaped, his hand going slack in Harry's as he traced the family lines down to see his own name. His mother's was now marked as deceased, the date there in embroidered numbers. He reflexively tightened his grip on Harry's hand to near painful levels as he stared at the lettering.

Harry barely noticed. He was staring sadly at a little burned out space on the tapestry, where, at one time, the name of Sirius Black had been embroidered. He knew that it hadn't been there in years, but at that moment he wished there were some tangible reminder that his godfather had been there.

The boys stood in subdued silence before the wall for some time, just staring at it, or perhaps beyond it.

When they came back to themselves, they ascended the stairs once more, still silent. It was only in the relative privacy of 'their' room that either felt ready to speak.

"See, I told you, the house might be yours." Harry's voice held an unidentifiable tone, something like sadness and hopefulness and something else Draco couldn't fathom, all rolled into one. The blond shook his head.

"No, it's yours. Property passes through only the male heirs in most pureblood families, it wouldn't have reverted back to my mother in any case. But if that's settled, can you tell me what this is all about?" Harry nodded and gave him a weak, apologetic smile.

"Sure. What do you want to know first?" He waited a moment while Draco made up his mind, suddenly realizing how empty his hand felt without the blond's resting in it.

"What exactly is this 'Order' thing, and why is your house their headquarters?" It was an obvious question, though Harry wasn't sure he was prepared to hear it laid out so plainly. He took a deep breath, and began talking.

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Draco was silent for a while after Harry finished explaining. Harry could understand that, though; he would probably have to take some time to digest the story of the last few years too, if he hadn't lived through it. Harry gave him a moment, then reached out and touched his shoulder experimentally. Draco didn't flinch; he raised his head so slowly that Harry worried for a moment if he was entirely alright.

"Is it okay, me being here?" For a moment, Harry could have sworn the blond was about to cry, but the slight weakness in his slate-grey eyes passed so quickly it might never have been there at all. On instinct, Harry shifted his hand on the comforter beside him so that his little finger crossed Draco's ever so slightly.

"Why wouldn't it be? I know some of the people here don't like you very much right now," Draco winced slightly, "but I think they'll be fine once they get to know you. And anyway, it's my house. I can invite anyone I want to." Draco had to smile as Harry's tone changed somewhere, from 'comforting' to 'petulant'. It was endearing. He silently shifted his hand further under the other boy's, enjoying the sudden feeling of closeness that he suddenly realized he had been missing for most of his life. The two sat in silence for a while, Harry becoming aware that Draco was drifting off. Eventually he found himself supporting the Slytherin's weight as he leaned into Harry's shoulder, fast asleep and making soft sounds that seemed almost kittenish. Harry smiled, but shifted the blond off him, doing his best to get the other boy into a reasonably comfortable position on the bed before quietly exiting the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft 'click'. The Weasleys would be arriving soon, and Harry knew that it would be much easier to explain Draco's presence if Draco was... well, not present. And besides, he looked adorable, sleeping like that.

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True to Lupin's word, the Weasleys did arrive later that afternoon. Harry was greeted excitedly at the door by the whole troop of Weasleys, excepting Percy, who still hadn't seen fit to show his face around any of the Order members. Harry regarded this as a good thing- he still hadn't quite forgiven Percy, and wasn't sure if he ever would. Ron and Ginny both greeted him with large hugs, as did Mrs. Weasley, who then hustled off to the kitchen to ensure that the entire household was being properly nourished. Fred and George managed to refrain from playing any tricks for at least five minutes upon entering, in which time they shook hands with Harry, assured him that 'business is booming,' which Harry hoped wasn't meant to be literal, and wandered off to find their room (one which they were set to share with their father and Lupin, and which was next door to the one set for Harry, Draco, Ron and Neville. end exposition).

Harry had barely sat down to catch up with Ron and Ginny when Mr. Weasley entered the drawing room and pulled Harry away. He caught the confused gazes of Ron and Ginny as he was escorted away, but he had a feeling he knew what this conversation was going to be about. He tried to fix a pleasant expression on his face, but he was well aware that none of the Weasleys had a very good opinion of the Malfoy clan; particularly not Arthur Weasley, after all the trouble Draco's father had caused him during his time in the Ministry. He waited for Mr. Weasley to begin, which he did, after ensuring that there were no extendable ears in the vicinity.

"I heard an interesting rumor, Harry." His voice was not unkind, though Harry half expected it to be. He could tell that the older man was trying to approach a difficult situation tactfully, and he appreciated the effort. "Is it true? That the Malfoy boy has been staying with you this summer?" Arthur Weasley was looking at him in such a way as though he expected Harry to immediately deny the charge. Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Yes. He has. He's also come to stay here, now that I've been moved." He looked up and met Mr. Weasley's eyes squarely. He knew very well that Ron would probably be an even harder sell on this than his father, and if he gave in now... It came as a surprise to Harry, then, that Mr. Weasley didn't seem angered by the situation at all. In fact, he was almost smiling. Harry's confusion must have been evident, because he proceeded to explain himself.

"Don't mistake me, Harry; I am a bit... concerned, about the boy's motives. But, well, everyone changes, and sometimes people are not who we think they are. My own son showed me that. On that same subject, I would like to apologize to you again." Harry nodded, giving the man a thankful smile, trying in the same motion to show him that he did not blame the whole Weasley family for Percy's conduct. "I'll say it simply; if you accept the young Mr. Malfoy's presence here, then I will as well. I trust your judgment Harry; I just hope you're not wrong about him." Arthur laid a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, which Harry was grateful for. He sighed.

"So do I."

It was not a second after he uttered those words that they heard a loud crash and a scream from above their heads. The two looked at each other, aware of the source of the voice at the same moment.

"Ron!" They realized in unison, quickly heading toward the stairs.


	12. Transfiguration

Chapter XII- Transfiguration

Harry and Mr. Weasley arrived at the stairs at the same time Ginny and the twins did, Fred and George having joined her in the drawing room after dropping off their bags. Harry broke up the bottleneck by ascending the stairs first, followed by Mr. Weasley, the twins, then Ginny. Harry ran up the steps two at a time, with a sick feeling in his gut that he knew exactly what caused that scream. When he got to the door of the room he, Draco, Ron and Neville were supposed to be sharing, he found his suspicions confirmed. Just inside the door, beside Ron's bag (apparently the source of the crashing noise), was a very large, very slimy slug. Harry grimaced, and looked beyond the slug (which he greatly suspected to be Ron himself) to see Draco standing beside the bed Harry had left him on. The usually calm-and-collected Draco's eyes were wide, and he appeared to be shaking, gripping his wand so tightly in his hand that Harry wondered if it would break. The other Weasleys arrived only a moment later, piling up behind Harry in an effort to see. Harry turned slightly to speak to Mr. Weasley.

"I think he's just been Transfigured, but I'll find out for sure. Just don't..." He trailed off and glanced at Draco again, who didn't seem to even be aware that there were other people in the room. Arthur nodded, taking in the sight of the shaking boy.

"Don't start yelling. I understand. It's probably best if we move him out of the room before we change him back, as well." With that, Arthur pulled out his wand and levitated his son-turned-slug out into the hallway and toward his and the twins' room, instructing Ginny to close the door behind them as the twins contemplated how best to tease Ron about this incident. Ginny waited a moment, hesitating.

"Harry?" She asked quietly, worried. He turned to her, most of his attention still on Draco.

"Hm? What is it, Gin?" She gestured slightly to the Slytherin.

"Isn't that Draco Malfoy? Why's he here? And why's he wearing a Gryffindor shirt, anyway?" Harry sighed, but was slightly relieved that Ginny was taking this calmly. Then again, she was probably the most logical of the younger Weasley children, anyway. Fred and George were too busy not taking things seriously, and Ron had a slight problem understanding the grey areas of the world. Ginny was the one most likely to help him deal with Ron, and would probably be the most accepting of Draco. He gave her a smile.

"Yeah, it is. I'll explain to everyone later, okay, Gin? I have to deal with him right now, and I'd really rather only explain once." The redheaded girl nodded, understanding.

"Alright, Harry. I'll go see how Ron is, then." She left, closing the door behind her as her father had requested.

All spectators gone, Harry could finally see to Draco, who still seemed entirely unaware of his surroundings. His eyes were still wide and blank, and Harry almost began to suspect Ron of managing to hex the blond before he was Transfigured, but then again, he couldn't believe Ron would be able to think quite that fast on his feet. He respected Ron's skills, but he really had no practical dueling experience to fall back on in surprising situations.

Harry approached the still figure of Draco slowly, worried that he himself might be the next slug on the floor if he surprised the boy. Cautiously, he reached out a hand and touched the boy's shoulder. The muscles there were pulled taut, and trembled just slightly from the strain. Harry removed his hand from Draco's shoulder and lightly ghosted it down the boy's arm, finally touching him fractionally more tightly when he reached the hand which was closed around Draco's wand. The blond still didn't seem to notice.

Harry took a deep breath, readied himself to be suddenly a lot shorter and slimier, and closed his hand around Draco's fist. He still didn't seem to notice. Relieved, Harry slowly but surely loosened the other boy's grip on his wand, and was finally able to remove it from his grasp and set it down on top of his trunk. With the wand secured, he faced Draco head-on, and looked squarely into his blank, grey eyes. They were unfocused, the pupils slightly dilated. With a sigh, knowing that he had to do something but not having the slightest idea what, Harry reached out and grabbed hold of Draco's shoulders, giving the blond a shake as he did so.

"Draco." Another little shake. "Draco, wake up. Draco!" Harry gave him another shake, more firmly this time, and for the first time, Draco seemed to notice. Harry continued to grip his shoulders as Draco blinked slowly and looked up at the dark haired boy; as if he was afraid that if he let go, Draco would slip away again. It took a moment for the blond to focus, but as Harry watched, the clouds cleared from his eyes, only to be replaced with the beginnings of tears as recognition flashed in the grey orbs.

Rather suddenly, Harry found himself with an armful of shaking Draco, landing on the floor with a 'thud'. He sucked in a breath, replacing the air that had been suddenly forced out of his lungs, and closed his arms slowly around the blond, who was still quaking and shivering at intervals. Harry was at a loss for a moment, then decided to do what he'd seen done in these situations on every ridiculous TV movie ever made; he began gently rubbing circles on the other boy's back, mumbling a mixture of soft hushing sounds and variations on 'it's okay' into Draco's ear. It took the better part of five minutes for Draco to calm down enough to be worth speaking to in anything but monosyllables, and Harry was beginning to notice that, not only was Draco basically sitting in his lap, but also he couldn't feel his legs anymore. That, however, was something to worry about later. First things came first, even though the blond seemed to be still a bit, well, out-of-it, for lack of a better term.

"What happened?" Harry asked softly, still running his hand up and down Draco's back comfortingly, feeling the rise and fall of the soft flesh beneath his borrowed t-shirt. He barely made out Draco's response, as it was mumbled into his chest.

"... was sleeping, ...yelled... thought... was... mother..." Something suspiciously like a sob racked the blond's body, and Harry held him closer. He knew that feeling, all too well, of waking up and expecting to see... what? Visions of the past, maybe. Maybe it was just a wish to go back and make things turn out differently. But it didn't matter. What did matter was making sure that Draco was alright, then making sure that Ron was alright, then making sure that the 'alright' Ron didn't 'un-alright' Draco.

"What did you do? Do you remember?" He tried to make it non-accusatory, but it didn't seem to work. The blond looked up at him with worried grey eyes, fisting one hand in Harry's t-shirt.

"Are you mad? I'm sorry..." He trailed off, looking miserable, and Harry realized that he had never heard Draco Malfoy apologize and mean it before. Harry's emerald eyes met with Draco's watery grey for a moment, and afterward, Harry couldn't remember if he had moved or if Draco had moved, but for a split second he felt the blond's soft lips on his, and a little spark that felt something like the first time he had ever ridden a broom, but in miniature, like all that feeling wrapped up in a single second. And then it was gone, but the universe felt like it was spinning just a few degrees off kilter, and he was having a hard time breathing. After a long moment, once his brain had returned from its brief exodus, he pulled Draco tighter against him, burying his nose in the blond's hair, which smelled like his shampoo and something else that was entirely Draco, spice and fire and vanilla cream mixed together.

"No," he mumbled into the platinum strands, "I'm not mad. It's not your fault. We just need to know what you did so we can un-do it. Was it just a Transfiguration?" Draco nodded into his neck. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The Slytherin probably knew thousands of spells that were much worse. A Transfiguration would be easy to undo, there were many things that wouldn't have been, and might have required an extended stay at St. Mungo's. As it was, he still needed to tell Mr. Weasley so they could put Ron back to normal, though Harry was debating whether that was a good thing, with Draco in this state. He was just contemplating how he could manage to accomplish both the task of informing the Weasley's what had transpired and keeping Draco calm, when Draco solved it for him. He buried his nose tighter into Harry's shirt for a moment, then pulled away.

"I'm okay." He saw Harry's look, and amended the statement. "I'll be okay. Go ahead and tell them, I just need a minute. Is that okay?" He was still looking worried, as though he wasn't sure that he was still welcome after such an event. Harry smiled warmly at him, and nodded.

"Of course that's okay. Don't worry, it'll be alright. I'll make sure of it. Even if I have to gag Ron myself." The twinkle in his eye made it impossible for Draco not to smile, and he cracked a weak grin before disengaging himself entirely from Harry, who now remembered that it would be hard for him to tell Mr. Weasley anything at the moment, seeing as how he still couldn't feel his legs. He managed to make it to the door before the hateful pins and needles attacked, and Draco cracked another small grin at the soft swearing from just outside the door before Harry closed it behind him.

Now alone, Draco sat at the head of the bed that he and Harry had already 'marked' as theirs (the covers had already been rumpled, and some clothing that Draco couldn't remember having seen before was already strewn across the comforter). He pulled his knees up to his chin, wrapped his arms around his legs, and cried for a solid minute, remembering everything that he had seen playing before his unfocused eyes only a little while before. The memories played fast and hard, but everything still seemed like it was in slow motion, his mother screaming at him to run, then just screaming, and the feeling of the curses thrown his way... He cried, then he picked his head up, wiped away the tears and stood. It took him only a few seconds to compose himself and straighten his borrowed clothes (he made a mental note to get to Gringotts soon so he could buy himself a new wardrobe with far less red in it), and Draco Malfoy stepped out into the hallway, prepared for whatever lay ahead, and desperately hoping they'd give him time to apologize before they hexed him into eternity.


	13. Explaining Draco

Chapter XIII- Explaining Draco

The only consolation Harry could find out of this mess was that, at the very least, he didn't have to get Ron used to Draco's presence. Ron was already used to Draco's presence. He had been since they'd first met, and his attitude hadn't changed.

"I'll kill him! You see if I don't! Did you see what he did to me!?" Ron was livid. He had been turned back to his normal form, only to begin cursing the boy that had altered him to begin with. It was a wonder, when Draco appeared at the open door a moment later, that Harry was able to hold Ron back from making good on his threats. Of course, he did have the twins, Ginny and Mr. Weasley helping, but it was still a wonder. Harry couldn't remember Ron ever being this furious, even when Umbridge refused to let the Gryffindor team play Quidditch.

"You arrogant prick! I could have you arrested, you know! Put you right alongside your father in Azkaban, you see if they don't!" Harry was the only one to pick up on the small noise of distress from Draco, and when he turned to the Slytherin to see if he was alright, leaving Ron to be held back by the other members of his family, he was rather surprised at what he saw. Draco simply stood there, composed and looking almost contrite, or as contrite as it was possible for him to look while glaring silver daggers at the redhead who was still cursing at him. When Draco spoke, it was more like a snarl.

"You listen here, Weasel," Harry grimaced at the use of the nickname, knowing that this was not going over as well as he had planned. "I came in here to apologize. But if you're going to be like that, you can forget it." With that, Draco turned on his heel and walked out, the sound of the door adjacent slamming shut followed a few moments after him, followed by the click of the Muggle lock and, though it couldn't be heard, probably a locking charm as well. Harry turned and glared at Ron with almost as much venom as Draco had done.

"WHAT did you think you were doing?" Harry was bordering on 'dangerously pissed', and his voice let it be known. He saw Ron gulp, all his anger suddenly fading as he realized that something was strangely wrong in his world. The redhead stopped trying to break past his 'guards' and stood stock still for a moment.

"You're defending him?" Harry suddenly felt a bit guilty. Ron did have a point. They were supposed to be best friends, and he was now siding with the one person they had both been dedicated to hating together. And, all things considered, Ron did have a right to be angry. He had probably been just as surprised as Draco had been to find that he was a three-foot-long slug, especially considering that all he'd been expecting was to drop his bags and go back downstairs. Harry finally understood what people meant when they complained of being between a rock and a hard place, but he wasn't sure which one was the rock, or if there was really a hard place at all, not just a cliff trying to fool him.

"I'm not 'defending' him, I'm telling you that no matter what he did, you are acting like an ass. What exactly would you have done if you woke up to someone yelling bloody murder?" Harry was still glaring at his best friend, but with far less anger than he had previously. In this particular situation, there was guilt on both sides. Ron shouldn't have said any of what he did, but he was also unaware of any of the circumstances he found himself in the middle of, and he had never known Draco as anything but an evil git. He was still a git, Harry conceded, but not really an evil one. Harry took a deep breath, even as Ron quieted slightly.

"Sorry, Ron. I shouldn't have gotten mad. But can you at least try to be civil to him?" The tension in the room drained with a speed known only in fights between best friends. Ron was still a bit put out, however.

"How am I supposed to be civil to him? And anyway, I shouldn't have to be! He shouldn't be here!" Okay, perhaps 'a bit put out' wasn't quite accurate, Harry winced, but at least he wasn't steaming mad anymore.

"I suppose I should explain, shouldn't I?" Harry deferred to Mr. Weasley as the only real adult in the room (though they had been 'graduated', they didn't quite fit the mold of 'adult', and Harry wasn't sure they ever would). He nodded his consent, even as Ron threw in a heartfelt, "Yes, you should," and Ginny nodded curiously.

It took a good fifteen minutes to explain the whole thing, from the time Draco arrived at his door in the middle of the night to their arrival at Grimmauld Place, glossing over what he knew of the reasons behind Draco's sudden appearance in deference to the other boy's privacy. That particular part of the story was Draco's to tell, and he was grateful for the approving look that Mr. Weasley gave him. Nevertheless, he was forced to spend an additional ten minutes answering questions before the Weasleys were satisfied. They all headed back to the drawing room downstairs, with the agreement that Harry would get Draco to come down when he was ready, and that they would be civil to the boy when he did.

Harry waited until they got to the bottom of the stairs, then knocked on the door that Draco had cloistered himself behind. There was no answer.

"Draco?" He ventured, knowing that he could unlock the door with little difficulty, but also knowing that he would prefer it if Draco opened the door himself. "It's just me. The others have gone downstairs." He smiled when he heard the lock click open, turning the knob and entering. Draco was sitting on 'their' bed (Harry noted with some curiosity that there were clothes strewn over it that he had never seen before), his knees tucked up with his cheek resting on them in such a way that he could pout at Harry when he entered. Harry sighed, wondering just when his life had managed to get even more complicated.

"Sorry about him." He commented, leaning on the door behind him to shut it, then coming over to sit next to Draco's feet on the bed. "He doesn't really mean most of that," Harry continued, adding a mental 'I hope' to the end. "I don't think he has any idea how to deal with this, and he's never really known you as anything other than an enemy. He'll come around eventually, and I think he might even apologize for all of that. Ron's not really a bad guy, he just..." Harry searched for an appropriate phrase to describe his best friend of the past five years. "He just makes up his mind about things, and it takes a freight train to change his opinion once he has." Draco nodded as well as he could, which wasn't well, seeing as how he had shifted to see Harry, and now had his chin resting on his knees.

"So, do you want to come downstairs? I don't think you've ever actually been properly introduced to everyone." He was rewarded with a small smile from the blond, who uncurled himself gracefully and let his legs hang over the side of the bed next to Harry's.

"I suppose I could make an appearance." He drawled haughtily, with a silver glint in his eyes that made Harry realize he was mocking himself. With a grin, Harry hopped off the bed and headed downstairs, Draco following on his heels.

The conversation in the drawing room halted for a moment as the two boys made their way in, four sets of eyes followed their progress as they made their way to sit on one of the large sofas, which was currently only occupied by Ginny. She obligingly moved over to allow Harry to sit next to her, with Draco on his other side. They sat in silence for a few seconds, observing and being observed. Draco was just beginning to be uncomfortable when Mr. Weasley rose from his chair and crossed the room to stand in front of the sofa, extending a hand before him.

"Arthur Weasley." He said genially, smiling down at the suddenly confused blond. Draco blinked for a moment before realization dawned, then he stood almost too quickly to take the proffered hand.

"Draco. Draco Malfoy." Harry could tell he was holding back a smile, and a weight lifted from his shoulders. Mr. Weasley wasn't exactly a top person in the Order hierarchy, but he held influence, and his acceptance of Draco would do more for the boy's confidence than anything Harry could do to reassure him.

"It's a pleasure." Mr. Weasley nodded his head in Ginny's direction. "As I'm sure you know, that is my daughter, Ginny," the girl offered Draco a warm smile, "and those three," he gestured to the twins on the other sofa and Ron, who was seated in one of the armchairs, "are my sons, Fred, George and Ron." The twins nodded at the same time, and Ron just gave a little huff of acknowledgment. Draco gave each of the Weasley children a polite half-bow, though Ron's was a bit shorter and tighter than the others. Harry just rolled his eyes, glad that at least they weren't trying to hex each other.

Introductions done, Mr. Weasley returned to his chair and Draco sat back down, curling up on the end cushion of the sofa like a cat, his shins just brushing Harry's thighs and his elbow on the armrest, his chin resting lightly on his palm. With everyone now situated, conversation began again, with the Weasleys filling Harry in on their summer activities so far. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was apparently becoming a great success, within the next year the twins projected that they'd have more business than Zonko's. It helped, Harry decided, that the Weasley's pranks at Hogwarts were famous among both former and current students. They had launched into a tag-team narrative about their near-destruction of the Burrow, during which Harry snuck a glance at Draco. The blond was listening with rapt attention, a tiny grin lightening his expression. Harry smiled. There was, perhaps, some hope after all.

It was about an hour later that the front door opened, revealing Tonks and a rather nervous looking Neville Longbottom. Tonks barely stopped to poke her fuchsia-and-lime-green head in the room to greet everyone, including Draco, who looked a bit shocked that his presence didn't seem to cause a stir. Harry assumed that word had gotten 'round to all the Order members by now. Neville, however, looked absolutely petrified by the presence of the Slytherin and gulped audibly when Draco turned his head to look at him. Harry worried for a moment that Neville might bolt and run when Draco grinned at him, apparently finding the boy's reaction amusing.

"Well!" Mr. Weasley stood up and stretched, addressing the room with an enthusiastic expression, "Now that we're all here, how would you all like to spend the day?" Harry looked up at the clock on the mantle, surprised to find that it was still very early in the afternoon, only about one o'clock. He was further surprised, though, that it was Draco who piped up with the first suggestion.


	14. Diagon Alley

I'll give a cookie to anyone who correctly identifies the reference in this chapter! Hint- it's not a reference to anything in the Harry Potter series, though it's quite obvious to anyone who already knows what it is. #Goes off humming "End of the World," in order to give further hints to those who might know what they're looking for when they see it#

Oh, and sorry it's so incredibly long, but there just wasn't a good place to split it! #apologies#

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Chapter XIV- Diagon Alley

Draco's suggestion, Harry decided as the little group arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, was actually a very good one. They needed to go to Diagon Alley anyway, to get their supplies for the year, but it also gave everyone the opportunity to have a bit of space after a rather stressful couple of hours. Even Neville seemed determined to have a good time, though he kept shooting nervous looks at Draco every few minutes. Harry had explained the whole situation again, but he had a nagging suspicion that Neville's discomfort was caused more by Draco's penchant for picking on him than by any ties Draco may or may not have had to Voldemort. Though Neville had become far more proficient during his practice with the DA, he still didn't quite have the confidence in his abilities to stand up to the Slytherin on his own.

For his part, Ron was doing his best to ignore the blond's presence while still talking to Harry. This was difficult, as Harry was usually next to Draco. They walked as a string of four on the sidewalk, with Ginny on Draco's other side, every once in a while shifting to allow Muggles to pass them, then fanning out again. The youngest Weasley was doing her best to make Draco feel welcome, asking him questions about the most mundane and ordinary things she could, and steering clear of 'sensitive' issues. Harry was grateful for this as well, as he was learning more about the blond through Ginny's probing questions. For instance, Draco had a serious fetish for Florian Fortescue's Double Chocolate Avalanche sundaes, and Mr. Ollivander gave him the creeps. Harry nodded in silent agreement at that. Before they knew it, they had arrived at the most un-noticeable pub in London. Mr. Weasley held the door open as they walked inside, herding them all in before letting the door close behind them.

Tom at the counter was cleaning one of the mugs, but nodded to them as they passed, giving Draco a suspicious look but keeping silent in the best tradition of bartending. One of the twins, Harry remembered Fred being identified as wearing the blue shirt earlier, so it must have been George, arrived at the alley wall first, and counted out the bricks that gave them admittance to Diagon Alley. Harry smiled at the sight of the busy street, realizing just how much he missed the wizarding world every summer. It was always so good to be back.

Their little troop paused as the bricks closed behind them, sorting out their destinations. Harry and Draco both needed to stop at Gringotts before they could do any shopping. Mr. Weasley had already visited the wizards' bank earlier that week, so the group decided to split up and meet in about an hour at Flourish and Blotts. Harry regarded Neville for a moment, as the boy was being quieter even than he was usually.

"Neville?" The boy's head snapped up at the sound of his name. "Did you need to go to Gringotts? You can come with us if you want." Harry offered, glad that Draco had the sense not to object. Neville looked grateful for the invitation, but shook his head 'no'.

"Thanks anyway, Harry. Gran gave me some money before I left, so I'm all set." Harry nodded, and Mr. Weasley placed a hand on Neville's shoulder.

"You're free to come with us then, or you can take care of anything you need to." Neville shook his head again.

"I'll go with you. See you in a while, then, Harry." The group split, leaving Harry and Draco standing there as the others headed off to take care of their shopping.

"Shall we, then?" Draco drawled, watching the points of red hair move off into the crowd. Harry nodded, and they set off.

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Blaise Zabini exited Eeylops' Owl Emporium, carrying a small bag with the Emporium's logo emblazoned on the side. His owl had been acting a bit peaky all summer, and he had finally gotten around to picking up some medicine for her. He turned to head back toward the Leaky Cauldron, perhaps stopping at Fortescue's on the way, when he stopped dead in his tracks. He could have sworn... He shook his head, but made his way through the crowd on the street a bit, trying to get a closer look. He had been right, and he nearly dropped his bag right there on the street. Draco Malfoy, wearing a Gryffindor t-shirt, was walking brazenly down Diagon Alley with none other than Harry Potter himself. Blaise contemplated this for a moment.

"Interesting..." he muttered to himself, and turned once again to exit the Alley, deep in thought, and forgetting entirely about Fortesque's Triple Thick Whippy Choco-Banana Shake. "Veeery interesting..."

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Harry had never quite gotten over being intimidated by Gringotts. The building was massive and imposing, and even though he knew that the goblins weren't dangerous unless you were trying to steal something, he still got the feeling that the institution itself was out to get him. The two boys walked past all the tellers and up to the front desk. When they reached it, a goblin looked down at them with an air of perpetual distain.

"What is your business?" Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Draco beat him to it.

"Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. We both need to make withdrawals." He didn't bat an eyelash as he looked the goblin straight in the eye. Harry was marginally impressed.

"Keys?" The goblin inquired shortly, obviously implying that he had better things to do with his day than deal with them. Harry rummaged in his pocket for a moment, finally coming up with the key that Hagrid had given him all those years ago. Draco had already handed his to the goblin, and Harry did the same. Impatiently, the goblin flipped through his ledger, looking up the vault numbers for the two boys. A moment later, he looked down at Harry again.

"Harry Potter, did you say?" Harry nodded silently, a bit intimidated. He heard Draco snort next to him, and had a sudden urge to elbow the other boy. "It seems you have some business to take care of." Harry had never heard such a mundane sentence said so scarily. For a moment, he wondered if he had done something illegal. The goblin's next words alleviated that fear. "It seems, Mr. Potter, that you came into an inheritance recently. What would you like to have done with your new account, Mr. Potter?" Harry was confused.

"New account...?" He echoed, questioningly. The goblin regarded him impatiently.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. Previously held..." The goblin flipped several pages in his ledger, "in the name of Black, Sirius. We received a letter from the Ministry transferring its holdings to you some weeks ago. What would you have us do with the account?" Draco heard Harry's breath hitch at the name, and turned to see the brunet's shoulders tense up.

"What are my options?" Harry managed to struggle out, unsure of himself. The goblin looked marginally annoyed.

"We can leave the accounts separate, as they are. We can also combine the accounts." Harry gulped, completely out of his comfort zone. He was still rather unused to having any sort of money at all, let alone two bank accounts, and had absolutely no experience handling financial matters at all, save withdrawing a few handfuls from his vault at the end of each summer. He looked over at Draco a bit helplessly, looking for any sort of assistance he could provide. And provide he did.

"Why don't you look at the contents of the new account while we're down there, and decide what to do with it then. If it's large enough, you may as well just keep two accounts. It's safer than having all your money in one place," he nodded deferentially to the goblin, "Even at Gringotts." Harry couldn't tell if the creature was pleased with the compliment or not, but he nodded his assent. It seemed like a better idea than making a decision right then.

"I think I'll do that, then." He said, now addressing the goblin, who looked pleased to finally have a decision about something. The goblin then turned his attention to Draco.

"And the young Master Malfoy, a pleasure as always." Harry wasn't sure if goblins could be sarcastic, but this one seemed to be doing a good job. "It seems that you, too, have come into a bit of an inheritance. Vaults 657, 819 and 924, I believe... yes, that's correct." It was now Draco's turn to have his breath catch, but for an entirely different reason. The numbers were eminently familiar- his mother's personal vault, his father's personal vault, and the Malfoy family vault. All...

"Mine?" He squeaked out, shivering slightly. He had always been rich, in the way that children can be rich. He had plenty of spending money, almost everything he ever wanted, but his parents were the ones with the real money. That it might suddenly be his was... shocking, though not wholly unexpected. The last two vaults were a surprise, however. "I thought the Ministry had requested that Gringotts freeze our family's assets." It was a statement, not a question, but a fairly accusatory statement anyway. The goblin clearly didn't have time for it.

"Well, I expect they've been unfrozen, haven't they? What would you like done with the accounts?" Draco thought for a moment.

"Combine vaults 657, 819 and my personal vault. I'd like the contents moved to a new high security vault as soon as possible. Leave 924 as it is, but notify me of any withdrawals." The goblin made a note in his ledger.

"Very good. Any special requirements of the new vault?" Draco thought again.

"No admittance to anyone besides myself, including blood relatives. Any changes to that instruction..." He thought carefully for a moment, then smiled as he came up with the perfect limitation, "Any changes must be delivered in writing, and signed by myself and by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. That's all." Harry blinked. It did make sense, he supposed, what with the fact that Draco's father probably would escape from prison whenever he felt like it, but it wasn't exactly the sort of action he expected from the other boy.

"Wait here please." The goblin took Draco's key and disappeared for a moment, returning with another key that Harry hadn't seen before and a piece of parchment. The parchment was handed to Draco, who scanned it briefly, then folded it and put it in his pocket. The goblin clapped his hands together twice, and another goblin appeared at his side. Instructions were hastily given, and the new goblin gestured hurriedly to them.

"Follow me, please." It hurried off, forcing the two boys to jog a few steps to catch up. A few moments later, they were seated in one of the famous Gringotts carts, hurtling around corners deep below the streets of London. Eventually, the cart came to a stop, and Harry recognized his vault. He stepped out after the goblin, who opened the vault for him. It never ceased to amaze Harry what a large pile of gold his parents had left him. He looked for a moment, then grabbed a few handfuls of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. Draco snorted, and Harry turned to look at him.

"What?" He was genuinely confused. He was aware, of course, that his vault probably contained nowhere near the amount of money Draco's did, but it certainly wasn't empty. Draco, however, wasn't laughing at the contents of the vault, but rather, the amount Harry was taking out.

"Take more than that. You have plenty, and anyway, I'm taking you to get some proper clothing. Everything you own is red and gold or five sizes too big." Harry knew that the blond had a point, but he was still a bit miffed that he felt the need to point it out so obviously. Nevertheless, he took a few more handfuls of Galleons off the pile, feeling a bit of sticker shock at the amount of money he was now carrying on his person. Another moment, and they were back in the cart again, heading down further into the depths of the Gringotts vaults.

Their next stop was also for Harry, the new vault that he had suddenly inherited. Draco sat in the cart, leaving Harry to inspect the new vault himself. The goblin opened it with the new key, the one Harry hadn't seen before. There was a puff of dust from the inside, which apparently hadn't been touched in several years. Once the dust cleared, however, Harry couldn't help but gape at the sight that lay before him. The vault was large, larger than his parents', and was almost filled with heaps of gold, silver and bronze coins. Draco leaned forward in the cart to see, and looked almost as shocked as Harry did. Then again, he realized, it would make sense for this vault to be so full. It contained the Black family fortune, collected through the generations, and, even though the son in question had been erased from the family tree, passed down to the next male heir. It was not nearly as large as the Malfoy fortune, but it certainly was impressive. Harry just thanked the goblin and got back in the cart, still not quite comprehending what he'd just seen. Draco felt it best to give him a minute, and instructed the goblin to continue on to his vault.

It took a while to get to the high-security vault that Draco had just ordered, even at the high speed with which the Gringotts carts traveled. He was pleased with the security, which, Harry noted, bore quite a bit of similarity to the security of vault 713 that he could remember from his first year. The sheer amount of money in the vault was astounding, easily four times as much as was in his new vault. Draco calmly collected a few fistfuls of coins, then stepped out, nodding to the goblin to close the vault again. It did so, and soon they were back on the surface again, with Harry coherent enough to talk.

"You should move that to a high-security vault, you know. That much money, it's a wonder it's not in one already." The last part of the statement was mostly Draco mumbling to himself, but Harry understood his point.

"That's probably a good idea, isn't it?" He looked for one more reassurance from Draco, which he got, and headed back to the goblin they'd spoken with before, who was just finishing up with another customer.

"Back again, I see. Has Mr. Potter decided what to do with his vault?" The goblin was almost leering, and Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable again. Draco sighed and rescued him.

"He wants the contents of the new vault moved to high-security, same conditions as mine." Harry shot him a thankful glance.

"Very well." Harry was now sure that the goblin was doing his best to sound put out at having to deal with them. Once again, the goblin pulled his disappearing act, this time reappearing with a sheet of parchment for Harry, and requesting the new key be returned. Harry handed it over, and was handed the parchment in return. He scanned it much the same way Draco had, but was utterly lost by the third line. He resolved to ask Draco to explain it to him later. All transactions accomplished, the goblin set about ignoring them. The two boys left Gringotts, and Harry felt he'd never been so happy to see the sun.

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They were a few minutes late getting to Flourish and Blotts, but Mr. Weasley assured them it was fine, and did they bring their letters? They had, and both pulled them out. The books for sixth year students were in one section, and so the three boys, Harry, Draco and Ron, set off to pick theirs out. Mr. Weasley went to help Ginny with hers, and the twins disappeared further into the store. It didn't take long to find the books they needed. One of the store clerks who had seen them come in approached them cautiously as they were scanning the shelves.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry turned, and saw that the clerk seemed to be carrying a letter of some kind. "Your updated booklist, sir. Delivered just this morning!" He handed over the paper, and Harry thanked him as he looked it over. It was more than just a booklist, it also had his updated schedule. Just his luck, there had apparently been room in the Advanced Potions class after all. He groaned as Draco stole the letter from him.

"Excellent. Here you are, then." He handed Harry the letter back, along with a copy of a book that must have been three inches thick, titled "Advanced Potion Making." Harry groaned again. Ron stared at him.

"Potions? What're you doing taking potions, Harry? I thought you swore it off, end of last year." Ron sounded confused, and Harry couldn't blame him. And then, to top it all off, Draco couldn't help but throw in his two cents.

"I talked him into it. Waste of talent if he didn't. Oh, here's the new Transfiguration book." He pulled three copies off the shelf, pulling a used one for Ron and handing it to him without even a look. Ron reddened a bit, but didn't comment, placing the book in his basket with his others.

Their books collected, they purchased them and had the lot sent to the Leaky Cauldron for them to pick up on their way out. With that part of their school shopping completed, they split off again, with Draco dragging Harry toward the much more expensive end of Diagon Alley in order to find 'proper' clothes.

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They entered a shop Harry didn't recognize, but one Draco apparently shopped at often, given the attention he received when he walked in the door. Harry vaguely heard him explaining that he needed a completely new wardrobe, and that Harry was to be outfitted in similar fashion, and then everything became somewhat of a blur. He couldn't remember ever wearing so many clothes in his life, and the sales clerk who had whisked him off to the dressing rooms kept producing more and more outfits for him to try, aided and abetted by Draco, who kept adding helpful remarks, including that coral tones were completely wrong for Harry's skin tone. An hour later, Draco had managed to find several tons of clothing for himself, and another ton or so for Harry. The brunet's eyes widened as he viewed the piles they had collected.

Draco, who had changed out of the Gryffindor t-shirt at the first opportunity and was now dressed elegantly in flat-front slate grey trousers and an emerald green shirt made of some shimmery material, viewed Harry with disgust. "We spend all this time picking these out, and you insist on wearing that." He gave Harry a 'look'. The 'that' he spoke of was the same t-shirt and jeans that Harry had been wearing when they'd entered the store. "Absolutely not." The blond scanned Harry's pile for a moment, then pulled several things out and tossed them at Harry's chest. "Go. Change. Now. I'm not letting you out of this store like that." He then turned and ignored Harry's protests, watching as the sales clerk rang up his purchases.

Harry made his way back to the dressing rooms, not even looking at what Draco had picked out for him until he got there. What he found when he did look was a pair of exceptionally fitted dark blue jeans that he barely remembered trying on, and a short sleeve, grey knit top that felt like it had some silk in it somewhere. He put the articles on, then looked at himself in the mirror. He blinked. Actually, he admitted to himself, he didn't look too bad. The shirt, though, felt like it was clinging to his skin. He picked at it a bit nervously for a moment, then lifted his hands over his head, stretching skywards. Just as he had expected, the shirt rode up, revealing at least three inches of his stomach. He relaxed, pulling the shirt back down. He wasn't quite sure about this. He folded up his other clothes carefully and exited the dressing room, heading to the counter to tell Draco that the shirt was obviously far too small.

Draco beat him to the punch, however. He was leaning back on the counter, two large bags by his feet, and another two sitting on the counter itself. He looked Harry up and down as he approached, carefully judging his handiwork. He caught Harry's apprehensive look, and decided to have some fun. Harry's head shot up from his reexamination of himself at the low wolf whistle from the blond, and he issued a glare in Draco's general direction, but found himself blushing for some unknown reason. Draco just grinned at him.

"Much better. I can stand to be seen in public with you now. Pay for yours and we can get out of here." Harry looked questioningly at the bags. Draco gestured to the ones on the counter. "That one's yours, and that one's half yours and half mine. But we're having them sent to the Cauldron for us to pick up later, anyway. Come on. I need a new trunk, and we still need quills and such." Shaking his head at the blond's sudden urgency after they had spent an hour trying on clothes, Harry requested the total. Then requested it again. He shot Draco a look of pure loathing.

"You can't be serious. That much for clothes?!" Draco rolled his eyes at him.

"It's not like you don't have the money. Pay, and let's go." Harry counted out the required Galleons almost painfully, glancing every so often at the one-and-a-half bags of clothes that probably cost as much as his precious Firebolt.

As soon as he was done, Draco dragged him out of the store and back up toward what Harry now thought of as the 'sanely priced' end of the Alley. It took only another half hour for them to get their basic supplies; quills, new rolls of parchment, etc, then Draco spent another chunk of time at Madame Malkin's selecting new robes. He had all of that sent to the Leaky Cauldron for pickup as well, then dragged Harry to yet another high-priced store to get a new trunk.

Harry counted himself lucky that he got to rest for a moment, as he was apparently not needed in the Search for the Perfect Trunk. He made a mental note to never shop with Draco again (it was exhilarating, but tiring and expensive!), and occupied himself by looking out the window at all the people going by. He scanned the street for several seconds before his eyes came to rest on the storefront of Eeylops. A little part of his brain twinged, and he suddenly remembered a conversation from several days before. He fought with himself for a moment before checking to ensure that Draco was well occupied, then headed out the door. It was sort of traditional, or at least he felt it was. And anyway, as Draco himself had said, it wasn't as if he couldn't afford it. It never occurred to him how strange it was to be buying a gift for someone you had hated not ten days earlier.

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Draco finally finished selecting a trunk and headed back to the front of the store to find Harry. He found him standing by the door with a cage at his feet. Inside was a spotted owl that blinked at Draco with bright, clear eyes. He looked at it again, then back up at Harry, who looked a bit uncomfortable. When he mumbled something about 'don't expect much for your birthday', it took all Draco had not to hug him.

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A/N- Did anyone notice how their new shirts match the other's eye color? When I dressed them in my head I didn't even realize it, but then I typed it out and noticed. Fun, huh? Oh, and the shirt that Harry thinks has some silk in it probably does, but I imagined the clingy-ness to be something like a lycra blend. #rolls eyes at herself for sounding like some clothes junkie#


	15. Ginny's Suspicion

Chapter XV- Ginny's Suspicion

Their arrival at Fortescue's wasn't as terrifying as Harry thought it might be. He could just imagine Ron's reaction to his new wardrobe, which was really very unlike anything he'd ever owned before, but found he didn't really have to worry. Ron was far too occupied, as were everyone else, with chatting with the newest arrival.

"Hermione!" Harry called out as soon as they were close enough to the group not to disturb everyone out shopping. It was indeed Hermione, who was apparently doing her shopping as well, if her bags were any indication. Upon a second look, he also realized that Hermione's parents, whom he recognized from their brief introduction several years earlier, were sitting at a nearby table, talking to Mr. Weasley. Harry made his way over, pushing through the crowd that always appears whenever you're trying to get somewhere, aware that Draco was still on his heels. When he finally got there, Hermione rose from her seat and greeted him with a hug and a swift peck on the cheek. Harry nearly laughed at the look of jealousy that passed briefly over Ron's face.

"How've you been, Harry?" Hermione's normally bubbly greeting was tempered with concern. He knew that she was asking about how he was dealing with Sirius, and was again somewhat uncomfortably aware that, since the arrival of Draco, he had actually managed to forget what had happened. Or maybe 'forget' wasn't the right word, he still remembered every painful detail of that day. It just... hadn't seemed as painful, and hadn't crept to the front of his mind as often. It felt a bit like he was betraying his godfather's memory, but he also felt, for the first time since the incident, that he could answer the question honestly.

"I'm doing alright, actually." He gave her a smile as she gave him a suspicious look. Mildly satisfied, but not quite believing him, she finally noticed the person standing directly behind him. She gave a little gasp and stepped back quickly. Harry merely looked over his shoulder to see Draco putting on his best 'I'm threatening, fear me' look. Harry turned around and swatted him on the shoulder, ignoring him when Draco responded with a pouty noise that sounded suspiciously like 'meanie'.

"Stop trying to look scary. It doesn't work anymore." Harry threw over his shoulder as he strode over to an empty seat at what was obviously the 'kids' table, knowing that Hermione would require an immediate explanation. Still pouting, Draco followed, taking the seat next to Harry and carefully placing his owl on the ground in the space between them, giving it another happy glance as he did so. No one apparently noticed this, except for Ginny Weasley.

Normally, she wouldn't quite win awards for being observant, but in this case, it was hard not to be. Particularly when Harry was looking far more edible than she had ever seen him, and Draco wasn't looking what you'd call unattractive. Far from it. And so, being a normal, average female, Ginny was having a hard time not paying attention to the two boys across from her. Though her crush on Harry had faded, she still tended to notice what he did, if only because he was becoming very much like another brother to her- one that she knew wouldn't fly off the handle if she ever tried to- gasp!- date someone.

It was only because of the natural urge of a teenage female to ogle hotnesses that Ginny noticed the look that Draco gave to the owl, and it was because of that look that Ginny stopped looking merely for the eye candy and started looking for the little clues. She found them. Plenty of them.

First was the fact that Harry was dressed like something out of a men's fashion magazine, which she seriously doubted he could accomplish on his own- Harry Potter he might be, fashion maven he was certainly not. Next was the ease with which they were... well, touching each other. It was nothing obvious, Ginny admitted to herself that she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been looking, but from the light swat to Draco's shoulder to the ease with which they were elbowing each other while recounting to Hermione the story behind Draco's arrival, they were simply in contact with each other just slightly more than normal, and for just slightly longer than normal each time. It was small and probably insignificant, but she stored it away for reference anyway. And Ron had said Draco talked Harry into taking Advanced Potions...

Ginny Weasley was developing a suspicion, but she wasn't going to voice it anytime soon. If she did happen to be right, it would be far, far too early, and if she was wrong... Well, she would have two of the most powerful young wizards in the country quite annoyed with her. Looking over at Hermione, though, she had an idea. She wouldn't be in class with the two of them at all, but Hermione would. And she was willing to bet that Hermione would be willing to help her keep an eye on them. After all, she thought as she gave both of them another appraising look, who wouldn't be?

The idea would have to be placed aside though. At the moment, Florian Fortescue himself had appeared to take their orders. Which took at least ten minutes of ordering, reordering, inquiring as to what everyone else was having, and quibbling over which toppings to add. Draco was the only one who knew exactly what he wanted. Fortescue seemed to know what Draco wanted, too.

"The usual, Mr. Malfoy?" He asked, politely but a bit coldly. It was almost enough to make Harry wince, comparing that voice with the one that had been speaking so jovially to all the others at the table. Draco, however, took it in stride, and actually seemed to be making an effort to be obsequiously cheerful. He nodded happily.

"That's correct. One Double Chocolate Avalanche, extra chocolate." Harry thought he was the only one who noticed the childlike glimmer that appeared in Draco's eyes as he ordered, but he was wrong. Ginny noticed it, and the answering smile that graced Harry's countenance. This, too, was filed away.

After they had eaten, which took a while as they spent as much time talking as they did chewing, they asked for their bills. It came as a surprise to most of the table when Fortescue informed them that their bills had been "already taken care of." Ron, in particular, responded with a rather intelligent;

"Huh?"

It spoke for most of them.

Harry looked around briefly at the other tables, searching for anyone who might have decided to pay for their ice cream. He didn't see anyone. Someone who'd already left? He thought back through the time they'd spent there, ordering, talking, then the sundaes had arrived, and Draco went in to get more napkins, and... that was it.

Harry shot the blond a suspicious glance, and was rewarded with an almost imperceptible shrug. He cocked an eyebrow, silently but obviously looking for more information. Draco gave up and looked happily down at his owl, then back up at Harry to mouth a quick and silent 'thank you'. Harry smiled, and kept quiet. Telling, then, would be Draco's prerogative.

Ginny observed the silent conversation, which was only helping to confirm her hypothesis. Her theory about the owl had just been proved correct, and she was fairly certain that it was Draco who had turned Harry into a 'My Size' Ken doll. She needed to consult Hermione on this one, and she was sure, judging by Hermione's rather quick acceptance of Draco during their ice cream break, that Hermione would at least be willing to listen to her suspicions.

It took only minutes to get Hermione's parents to agree to let her come stay at Grimmauld Place for the remainder of the summer, promising to drop her off at the corner of the street the next day. She did need to collect up her school things, and those were still in her bedroom at home, she explained as they passed out of Diagon Alley and back into the Leaky Cauldron. Ginny looked positively ecstatic about Hermione joining them, as did Ron, but for completely different reasons. Draco watched the proceedings with amusement, wondering just how happy the redheaded boy would be to know that even the Slytherins were aware of his long-time crush. Hell, even the Hufflepuffs knew, and for that to happen it had to be quite obvious.

Draco got stares as he picked up all his purchases. Even Tom, who never really looked very interested in anything that went on in his own pub, was staring. They stared further as Draco managed to pack everything into his new trunk to carry it back, up to and including several bags of Harry's purchases. It was Harry who voiced the obvious question.

"How in the world did you get all that to fit in there?" The Grangers, in particular, looked very odd with their mouths hanging open. They were marginally used to strange happenings, seeing as how their daughter was a witch, after all, but managing to fit a pile as large as Draco's into one trunk was just a bit over the top. Draco gave them all his best 'why do I put up with this?' look.

"What's the point of buying a trunk in Diagon Alley if you're not going to get a magic one?"

There was really nothing else to be said after that.


	16. A NonAnswer to a Why

A/N- It's been a while, hasn't it? Well, I apologize for the update delay. As I said, these chapters will be coming out more slowly than they did in the beginning, but I am still working on this, have no fear! Finals distracted me for a couple weeks there, but that's all over, and I'm settling in to my new semester schedule just fine, so I have some time again to work on this. Now, since you're all sick of my babbling, here is chapter 16, not-so-hot-off-the-press, but still shiny and with that 'new chapter smell' still intact!

Enjoy, and please leave a review! I love the reviewers I have, but I simply adore new viewpoints. On that note, thank you for all the constructive criticism and lack of flames. You guys make me feel all warm and fuzzy!

Oh, and before anyone yells at me... yes, I know I have like, seven chapters that take place in the same day. I realized that, and I almost smacked myself, but let's just remember that it's an important day, k? And did everyone pay attention to Blaise like I told you to (i think)??? Good, good. You're ahead of the game. Now, I have to get back to writing this thing, so I will leave you with...

Chapter XVI- A Non-Answer to a Why

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It became clear, once they got back to Grimmauld Place, that no amount of sugar was going to help any of them. Despite the piles of ice cream that they had managed to ingest, the five 'youngest' inhabitants of the house could barely keep their eyes open halfway through dinner. It was a good meal, though. Mrs. Weasley had cooked something besides pot-pie, which Draco didn't comment on but was happy about anyway, and Remus Lupin had reappeared. Tonks was also apparently living there at the moment, and her rather flashy presence kept the dinner conversation light and cheerful.

Harry did wonder, though, who else was staying in the house. Remus had made a comment that they had more live-ins than before, but Harry hadn't seen anyone else around yet. He took a moment to ask about it as they cleaned up. Surprisingly or not, it was Tonks that answered the question.

"Well, there's me, and Remus here, and all of you. Old Moody should be back any time now, he left on some business. Mundungus Fletcher was staying a while earlier this summer, but I don't know if he'll be back again before you lot leave for school. And you said Hermione'll be coming to stay tomorrow, right? That brings it up to fourteen all in this house if Mundungus comes back. Plus there's Kingsley, you remember him, and your Professor Snape, and of course Dumbledore, and they come through every now and again. It certainly doesn't ever get boring around here! Enjoying yourself so far?"

The last comment was directed at Draco, who had been half-listening to the explanation but more focusing on the slow shift of Tonks' hair from her green-and-fuchsia of the morning to a cheerful orange. He appeared startled that he was actually being spoken to, but seemed to get along fine with Tonks after a few moments of chatting. Harry was glad for that, it was probably better if Draco started making some ties to fall back on should anything happen. And Harry was sure that, eventually, something was going to happen.

Mrs. Weasley hustled them all off to bed soon afterward, not listening to any complaints about the early hour after watching them all sit around and yawn into their dinners. There was some confusion over who was in which room again, and did George steal my toothbrush? But it was all sorted out eventually. There was some jealousy over the fact that Ginny got her own bed, but, as she reminded them, once Hermione arrived she would be sharing as well.

Harry and Draco had become quite used to their nightly routine, and the process of Harry handing over a t-shirt and pair of pajama pants from his trunk seemed perfectly normal to them (though Harry wondered for a moment why Draco hadn't bothered to buy his own pajamas since he was buying half the clothing store anyway). Ron, however, watched in slightly shocked fascination until he was knocked over by Neville, who had apparently gotten his foot stuck in his own pajamas. The incident was laughed about until Neville managed to laugh at it himself.

Harry was struck by the surreal feeling of familiarity but unfamiliarity at the same time. Sleeping in the dorm for most of the year, he was used to the chorus of 'goodnights' that made their way around the room on the occasions where all the inhabitants were actually going to sleep at the same time. The unfamiliarity in this situation came from the fact that Dean and Seamus were missing, and Draco was there in their stead. Somehow, it made the goodnights seem forced.

"G'night Ron, Harry." There was a brief pause. "Er... Malfoy..." Harry felt rather than heard Draco's near-silent chuckle at Neville's hesitance, and resisted the urge to poke him for it. Ron did almost the same, though his pause was just a hair shorter than Neville's had been.

"Night Ron, 'night Nev. G'night Draco." Harry's voice dropped several notches in volume for the last salutation. When Draco spoke, his voice held a tone which clearly stated that he was only doing this because it was perfunctory, but he was going to be nice about it anyway.

"Goodnight, Weasley, Longbottom." Though he still used their last names, they were simply that. Just names, not sneered or drawn out so as to be insulting. His voice then dropped a few more notches than Harry's had, but remained just loud enough for Harry to hear what could only be described as an affectionate, "Night, Harry."

Harry remained awake for some time after the others had all drifted off. He lay there on his side, facing Draco who was facing him, listening to the soft sounds of his roommates shifting in their sleep. It wasn't that he wasn't tired, or that he couldn't sleep. Rather, what kept him awake were his own thoughts. Thoughts about what exactly was going on, and what might be meant by all the little touches, by a tiny kiss, and by the affection in the voice of a boy who so often seemed to be made of ice. All that, and why, on a bed that could easily fit four if they all had the same, slim Seeker-build, he and Draco were all of about three inches apart. These thoughts were what occupied his mind until sleep finally came to claim him.

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The 'woke' again in the field, this time blanketed with heather, which gave it a soft, misty appearance. The house was again some way off in the distance. Harry stood, looking around calmly and waiting for whoever needed to see him. She appeared a moment later, walking towards him from his right. It was a woman again, though not as young as the first nor as old as the second. For a moment, he could have sworn that she bore a striking resemblance to his mother, but the sensation was gone almost as fast as he could recognize it. She, like the others before her, wore a simple sundress and seemed to fit perfectly into the scenery around her. He couldn't help but bow slightly when she arrived; prompting what he could have sworn was a giggle.

"Greetings, Harry Potter!" She seemed quite a bit... happier, than the other two had been. The feeling Harry had gotten from the first was one of weary resignation combined with a faint sense of hope. The second had been as reassuring as the first hadn't, but had seemed somehow untouchable. This girl, however, seemed to glow with simple joy. Upon close inspection, though, he realized that she had the same strange eyes as the others. He ventured a cautious 'Hello'. She smiled gaily at him.

"Don't worry, Harry. I know all about you already! You've met my sisters, haven't you?" Ah. Harry's brain finally clicked into a functioning mode, and the similarity of their eyes suddenly made sense. All three of the women he had met in this strange place were related, they were sisters. Yes, it made perfect sense. But the woman was continuing.

"We felt you should meet me, Harry, it seemed only right, after all, even though you probably won't see me very much at all. My sisters know quite a bit more than I do, you see. It's they that will be training you. Oh, I'm so glad you've decided to help us!" Even if he hadn't decided to, Harry realized, it wouldn't have been possible for him to turn her down after the look of utter gratitude she was now giving him.

"And I'm so glad you and your partner are getting along! I was worried for a while, really I was. Well, more like my sisters were worried and told me I should be. It's hard for me to worry about anything for very long, you see." She smiled apologetically. Finally, Harry's brain caught up with the one-sided conversation, which was speeding by too fast for him to catch. He held up a hand, requesting a pause. The woman looked at him quizzically, her chestnut bangs falling across her forehead in a way that would have been quite attractive to Harry, were he ten years older and not preoccupied with what she had just said.

"Partner? What partner? Why do I..." He stopped, realization finally making itself known. "Draco. You mean Draco?" She smiled beatifically.

"Right in one! He's just perfect for it, too! And you complement each other nicely, it should do very well. If the partners don't connect well," She continued, leaning in and whispering conspiratorially, "very bad things can happen." She paused briefly, then continued at her normal pace and volume. "But you two are the best I've ever seen, really! It'll all work out well, I know it will!" Harry held up the hand again, stopping the flow of words.

"So you," he caught her look, "or your sisters, you're responsible for this..." Harry searched for a word, not quite finding one. "This thing that's going on with us?" The feeling of Draco's hand in his, the fleeting touch of lips brushed across his mind for a second. The woman laughed and clapped her hands together joyfully.

"Oh, no! Not at all! My sisters and I, we can't do things like that! It's not our area, and there are rules, after all. We simply brought you two together and removed some barriers. Not the ones you made, of course. We cannot unmake your decisions, that's free will. Not even we can change that!" She smiled again. Harry was struck for a second with just how much this particular... what was she, anyway? He'd ask eventually, but no matter what, she sure smiled a lot.

"We can't remove your decisions. We simply removed a couple factors, that's all. Nice and simple! After all, it wouldn't work if you two kept hating each other, there isn't another one like him until... what do you call it again, Germany? Yes, that's it. And that's much too far! All we required was a simple tolerance, but more is wonderful, just wonderful! Of course you have our blessing, if that is your concern, and of course we'll give back what was taken, when the time is right! Oh, I simply can't wait to get started! I can just tell that you'll be perfect together! We haven't had such a good match in, oh, at least a few hundred years!"

Harry was trying to pay attention to her speech, but there was a relentless tugging at the back of his mind that seemed to whisper that he was waking up. He hurried, finding the words to phrase his question.

"Who are you? What are you?" He interrupted as panic struck, the edges of this strange reality beginning to swirl at the first sign of his awakening. She giggled.

"Why silly, you haven't figured it out yet? We-"

Her final words were cut off as Harry woke up.

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Please leave a review? Even a tiny one? (that's "crying Trowa", in case you didn't know)

Update: FF. net is being by and won't show Crying Trowa, so here is how to build him and see for yourself:

(just remove spaces) ---> . ;


	17. The Reconstruction of the DA

A/N- I was influenced to post this because of the HUGE number of reviews I received in ONE DAY after my last update!! I'm so happy that you guys are enjoying the fic, and I thank you for all your encouragement! I was SO thrilled to come home and find 14 reviews in my inbox! It really made my day, and I dedicate this chapter to all of you! #huggles reviewers#

HOWEVER… I also received my first flame, which I will reply to.

Here is the text of the review, which I am deleting, because I don't appreciate its presence (though at least they didn't do the "u idiot theyr not gay u suck and are going ot hell", which I appreciate).

THE REVIEW:

"From: ( )

No, I would not say it is lovely. It's highly unbelievable, especially given that Harry has Order guards and one of them could easily have taken care of Malfoy. And how the hell did Malfoy get there in the first place? A portkey that his mother made that conveniently left him within walking distance of Harry's relatives' home?

I'm willing to bet that you've never written Harry Potter fan fiction before because you haven't read the books. Your entire knowledge of the series probably came from one or two of the movies, and you're likely also between the ages of fourteen and seventeen."

MY REPLY TO THIS:

First off, I doubt Harry will agree to "Big Brother" surveillance. I have no doubt there are alarms of some kind, I highly doubt that they would go off at invited guests (which, if you didn't notice, Draco was). Second, how Malfoy got there will be explained, if you felt like being patient. It has a bit to do with the whole story, and will be revealed eventually. I will tell you that Hermione will be wondering the same thing, and that it has something to do with Draco's lie. That's all I'm saying at this point.

To the next section of your 'concerns'- No, I haven't written HP fiction before, which I clearly stated in Chapter 1, if you bothered to read my warnings. I have read the books, multiple times (though less of the end of book 5, for it made me cry… Siri… #sobs#), but yes, I have seen the movies. Which, by the way, was also made clear in my warnings in Chapter 1. And yes, since you asked, I am 17. I will be 18 in March. Are you satisfied now? Good, good. And what, really, does my age have to do with anything? Does being over 17 mean that I am suddenly struck with some wonderful "Over 17 Only" super writing powers that allow me to be better than everyone else? I never heard that one at my writing forum meetings, but who knows, we might have missed it. I'll be sure to inform everyone, now that you've enlightened me.

NOW, for those of you people who do like this fic, a lovely new chapter. (Look! I called it lovely! Whatcha gonna do about it, Flamer-Who-Would-Not-Give-A-Name???)

Chapter XVII- The Reconstruction of the DA

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Harry was glad, in retrospect, that he had been the first in their room to wake up that morning. The rude awakening that Draco had received the day before would have been nothing compared to what they would have gotten if Ron had been first up and seen them. Harry's first awareness was of warmth. It was cozy, like curling up under a blanket in front of a fireplace on a winter evening. He unconsciously snuggled closer to the source of the heat. Which would have been fine, had the heat not snuggled back.

Suddenly wide awake, Harry opened his eyes to find that he was entirely wrapped around Draco, and that Draco had wrapped back. So much so that Harry was not entirely sure whose legs were whose. The worst of it, though, was that Harry found himself, against all his better judgment, not wanting to move. It was that feeling, more than anything else that panicked him into moving.

Slowly and carefully, so as not to wake the sleeping blond, Harry extricated himself. It took a while, and every little noise from any of the room's other occupants caused him to freeze up. Finally, after an eternity of careful motion, he was free. Still moving cautiously, he picked up the clothes that Draco had laid out for him and headed to the bathroom, stopping momentarily to lightly scratch behind the ear tufts of Draco's new owl, who hooted appreciatively. On the bed, Draco smirked to himself, then rolled to watch with half-lidded eyes as Harry exited the room, closing the door behind him.

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It was several hours later, once everyone was awake, bathed, dressed and fed, that Hermione arrived. Her parents, she informed them, hadn't been told the address of the house, and so hadn't seen her to the door. The twins helpfully volunteered to take her things up to her room, and finally the whole group of them convened in the "first boys' room," as it suddenly came to be called, to chat.

"Harry." Hermione called for his attention from her position at the head of Ron and Neville's bed, where she had curled up for the time being, "I've been meaning to ask, are we going to continue with the DA meetings? I mean, now that Dumbledore's back and everything?" She ignored Ron's pointed looks at Draco, which may have been more urgent if he were taking notes or something. As it was, he barely looked like he was paying attention. He did seem to perk up at the mention of the DA, but Hermione planned to do her best not to judge him as quickly as Ron had. Harry, meanwhile, was contemplating.

"I hadn't really thought about it, actually. I don't really see why not, if Dumbledore's fine with it and people still want to come to meetings." Harry shrugged. Technically, he supposed he was in charge of the DA, but he had never really felt the compulsion to act like 'the leader'. It was more that he had naturally evolved into the position, since everyone else had placed him there. "If we're going to, I think we really need to work on advancing everyone's curse blocking skills." He remarked, remembering their battle at the end of the previous year, in which spells had flown in every direction, some capable of killing on contact. Hermione shuddered, obviously remembering the same thing, and Ron looked a bit green for a moment. Draco resolved to ask about it some other time, but at the moment, he could offer only one comment.

"I know a few good defense spells that may help." When everyone turned to look at him, he explained clearly, if a bit nervously. "My father always intended me to be a DeathEater, so he taught me spells. Some of those curses are particularly used by the DeathEaters, and they developed some basic protection spells to defend against... what's the Muggle term for it? I used to know..."

He looked at Hermione for help. The curly-haired girl concentrated for a moment, a little "v" creasing the skin of her forehead. Finally her eyes snapped open.

"Friendly fire?" She offered, hoping that was what he was looking for. It was.

"Yes! That's it, thank you. Friendly fire. It was a way of making sure that they didn't take out their own if things got... confusing. I know most of them, not all, unfortunately, but I could teach you." The end of the comment was directed at Harry, who met his eyes with an approving smile.

"That would be great." He replied, perhaps a bit softer than one normally would. Ginny kept filing, even as Draco began explaining the fundamentals of the blocking spells and which curses they would work against.

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They spent the next two weeks at Grimmauld Place digging through the extensive Black family library, which, fortunately enough, contained a good number of books on curses, countercurses, and blocking spells, in addition to more basic object enchantments to make perimeter alarms and even how to make bodyguards from household items (this discovery had prompted many a joke about Mad-Eye Moody and his flying dustbins). It was a treasure trove, and the six of them, the twins having left to take care of their rapidly growing business interests, practiced and practiced and practiced until they each felt reasonably comfortable with a few of the spells. Even Neville was doing well, and had practically mastered most of the simpler counter-hexes they had found.

Hermione, in a fit of rare brilliance, had the forethought to ask Dumbledore on his last visit if he'd mind them borrowing a few books from the house. He had granted them permission, which had prompted several cheers and one loud 'thump' as Ron managed to tip his chair over backwards in his enthusiasm. When they began collecting the volumes they needed to borrow, however, they ran into some difficulty. The preliminary selection of books came to five stacks, each at least a dozen tall. Two full days were spent re-copying spells from the books that contained the least amount of valuable material onto rolls of parchment, until they arrived at a stack of eight books and another half-dozen thick rolls of parchment, covered in four versions of meticulous script (Harry and Ron had been forcibly exempted from recopying spells, on the grounds that no one could read their writing except the two of them. Rather, it was they who had been responsible for page-marking and sorting out the books that needed to be taken).

The last day in August arrived to find the six mostly-self-appointed leaders of the new school year's version of the DA surveying their handiwork. Provided that there was enough interest to continue the group, they would have enough to do to keep them occupied for months, and that was just the more advanced members.

Now, with the DA's plans for at least the first half of the year sorted out and everyone's things packed for the morning trip on the Hogwarts Express, the last day at Grimmauld Place took on a surreal air. By mid-afternoon, Harry was beginning to worry about Draco. The blond had been avoiding everyone all day, ever since their final check of the DA materials right after breakfast. When he finally realized that no one had seen the boy in over an hour, Harry went searching for him. When he found Draco, though, it was in one of the last places he would have thought to look.

"What are you doing?" He asked, slipping down into a cross-legged sitting position on the rug next to him. Draco was staring at the Black family tree, a wall that he had staunchly ignored since that first day at the house. He shrugged non-commitally.

"Just thinking. It really has been odd, hasn't it?" Harry nodded, confused but listening. "I mean, it's been barely a few weeks since we couldn't stand the sight of each other, but now here we are. Not two hours ago I was having a conversation with not one but two Weasleys, and if you asked me before I'd have told you I'd be buggered before that'd happen. Hell, I've been sharing a bed with you for the past, what is it now, three weeks, give or take? And I would've told anyone they were mad if they'd have suggested it a month ago. It doesn't make any sense." Draco's head dropped, his chin close to resting on his chest. "Aren't we supposed to hate each other?" The question came out as the barest of whispers and Harry wasn't sure if he was expected to answer or not. As it was, he wanted to.

"We're supposed to, I think. But then again, when has either of us done what we were supposed to do?" Draco let out a half-hearted chuckle at that- neither of them was exactly known for following the rules. "Besides, I don't know..." He searched for the right words, finally settling for something in the middle, "Doesn't it feel better this way? It just feels... more right, I guess." He gave up, punctuating his statements with a sigh and leaning back on his hands to look up at the top of the wall. He wished that he could read the names at the top, but they'd long been rendered unreadable; either by time or by purposeful wearing, he didn't know. It was fun, though, to trace the lines down and see where they ended up, imagining the lives of the people whose names were emblazoned there. He was so absorbed that he almost didn't notice, some minutes later, when Draco finally answered him, or rather, responded, spreading his elegant hands to physically form the question.

"But what is this? I know, you're right, it feels like it's right, but I don't even know what it is! This whole situation, or this... thing, with us..." His voice faded out, leaving behind it the ringing echo of his words, and just like that, it was out in the open. The looks, the casual touches, that fleeting kiss and all the mornings spent pretending to be asleep but really making mental excuses for that feeling of not wanting to move; all the little things that just happened. They weren't spoken of, they just existed, until this point, this moment, and all of those half-felt feelings came sweeping back.

"I don't know." It was all Harry could say. They spent the next hour tracing the golden lines with their eyes, not really seeing the pattern at all, lost in thought and warm silence until the voice of Mrs. Weasley calling them to supper intruded on their shared solitude.

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Please review (again)! I just love hearing when people like my stories, and constructive criticism is always welcome!


	18. Girl Talk

A/N- gotta get this up before the SuperBowl, so I'll keep the notes short!

A SPECIAL NOTE ON THIS CHAPTER- Usually I try to keep things in chronological order, and include flashbacks as segments, not whole chapters. However, this would have been nearly impossible for me to fit into the last chapter and still get done what I needed to get done, so... it is its own chapter. This takes place the first night Hermione stayed at Grimmauld, some two weeks prior to where the last chapter ended off, or, the night of the day the last chapter began. Their second night at Grimmauld. Oh, you all get it, I'm gonna stop explaining now. Enjoy.

Chapter XVIII- Girl Talk

It was easily midnight before the lot of them headed up to bed, having spent the day catching up on each others' summers, working on a few of the spells Draco had thought 'might help' and digging through the dusty shelves of the Black family library. Hermione had been rather surprised, really, at how well the day had gone. She really had expected to spend most of it un-cursing or un-hexing someone, most likely Ron. However, despite several rude comments and a few hateful glares and glances, they had managed to not kill each other, something Hermione was grateful for, though a bit confused by. After all, what should she have expected? Putting Draco Malfoy under the same roof as their little troop of Gryffindors would have been a sign of the apocalypse before, so she really had no idea what had happened. What, exactly, had made Malfoy... well, not nice, per se, but tolerable? It was something she really needed to sort out.

Harry's story (punctuated with details by Draco) about how the boys had wound up living together for the past few weeks had certainly sparked her interest, and she got the feeling there were details left out. For one, being quite observant, she noticed that Malfoy staunchly avoided talking about whatever incident drove him from his home (besides that there were DeathEaters involved, and his mother was killed), and that there was no mention of how he got from Malfoy Manor (which was supposedly so well hidden that you couldn't find it unless you already knew where it was, and quite far away from Muggles of any sort) to the suburbs of London, on his own, at night, bleeding profusely. She had been tempted to ask flat-out, but was fairly well assured that any answer she would get would be a lie, if she got an answer at all. Some things, it seemed, were off-limits. For instance, the one other thing she had wanted an answer to: Why had Harry let him stay? She knew, of course, that Harry was naturally kind, but she couldn't see that natural kindness so easily getting him over the fact that Malfoy's father had been partially responsible for Sirius' death, not to mention many others.

She felt, at the end of the day, that there was some detail she was missing. Some tiny little thing that she hadn't noticed, hadn't seen or reasoned out, that would explain the whole thing. There had to be some key that would just make everything fall click into place. Something. She had changed into her nightclothes and was still pondering the issue when Ginny knocked politely and entered their room (having been using the bathroom before the boys could monopolize it). The redheaded girl looked a bit nervous, Hermione noticed, she was quivering in that way which made it obvious that she wanted to say something but was barely stopping herself. Catching this, Hermione shut the door and sat down on the bed that they were to share (the other bed in the room being for Mrs. Weasley). She regarded Ginny thoughtfully for a moment as the younger girl sat down. What she wanted to talk about, Hermione had no idea, but with the way she was acting, it seemed important. Beyond that, though, Hermione wanted to ask her for her opinions about the situation with Malfoy. Just maybe, and it was a big maybe, Ginny would have noticed something that Hermione had overlooked.

Hermione was not disappointed. Ginny had barely been able to contain herself all day, as she observed the actions of Harry and Draco during their introduction to the DeathEaters' countercurses, their scouring of the library for good information. Every time she turned around there was something going on between them that was so close to being suggestive, but wasn't. It had been tantalizing her mind all day, and she was hoping Hermione could shed some light on it. Ginny was thankful that Hermione broke the ice.

"You want to talk about something, right?" The older girl smiled warmly, and Ginny was instantly reassured that Hermione would take her thoughts seriously, not brush them off as silly or disgusting. Taking a deep breath, she started explaining by asking a question.

"Did you notice Draco's new owl?" Hermione was slightly thrown by the question, and also the casual way that Ginny used the boy's given name. Still, she nodded.

"Yes. He named it Zephyr, if I remember correctly." Ginny smiled and nodded.

"Yep, that's right. He got it yesterday, on our shopping trip." Hermione was quietly nodding along, unsure of the direction of this conversation. Ginny had been so worked up over talking about Malfoy's owl? Something didn't add up.

"What are you trying to get at, Gin? This can't be about Malfoy's new owl." Hermione regarded the other girl with a bit of befuddlement. It was an unusual expression for Hermione. Ginny took another deep breath.

"Well, it is, actually. Among other things. See, I think Harry gave it to him." Ginny scrutinized Hermione's face, searching for her reaction to the statement. The first was obvious skepticism.

"And where did you get that idea? You and I both know that Malfoy doesn't need anyone to give him an owl. If he wanted one, he'd get it himself." The question did throw Ginny a little. She had, of course, known that the Malfoys had far in excess of the money needed to purchase an owl. If they wanted to, they could probably supply every witch and wizard in Britain with a brand new Firebolt, and still have enough money left over to buy half of France. But still, she just knew that he hadn't bought it for himself. And she did have evidence.

"I saw him, yesterday, when we were sitting at Fortescue's. Do you remember? Maybe you didn't notice, but he kept looking at that owl, and I saw him mouth 'thank you' at Harry. I swear I did. And besides that, do you honestly think that Harry picked out all those clothes he showed up with? You know I had a crush on him for a long time, but even I will admit that Harry completely lacks any sense of fashion."

Sadly, Hermione had to agree. And she had noticed, now that she thought about it, that Draco had been shooting an inordinately high number of glances down to the owl's cage while they had been eating and talking. He had seemed, in retrospect, to be almost worried about it. As though it would disappear if he didn't keep checking. And she had noticed the little smiles that played across his face whenever he did. The supposed 'thank you', though, she hadn't seen. She doubted, though, that Ginny would lie about such a thing. And then there were the bags of clothing, all the pieces of which looked 1) expensive, 2) like they actually fit, and 3) as if they went together. It was truly a miracle beyond all miracles. Harry was miserable at matching anything unless it was covered with Gryffindor insignia.

After giving Hermione a moment to go over all of this, Ginny continued.

"And, you didn't see it, but when we showed up, Draco was wearing one of Harry's shirts. And a Gryffindor shirt, at that! And he wasn't even complaining about it" Despite her misgivings, Hermione idly wished she could have seen that. And, thinking about it, Draco probably looked quite good in red, much the same way Harry looked smashing in emerald greens. Not that either would ever really admit it, of course.

"And then, you had to have noticed just how... I don't know, touchy they are. Harry's not unfriendly, but he doesn't usually play around that much, not even with Ron or the other boys. And Draco doesn't touch anybody." Hermione nodded again. It was common knowledge that the Prince of Slytherins detested being touched unless he touched first (which, as a rule, he didn't).

"Well, haven't you seen them? They're always touching each other! Think about it. I think both of them must have bruised ribs from all the elbowing they've been doing, and did you notice how neither of them was upset at all when Harry landed on him while he while he was trying to block the Arietis Curse?" Hermione had noticed, but hadn't thought anything of it. Such things had been common in the DA practice sessions, and everyone had been good-natured about accidents. At the time, it had seemed normal, but looking back... Ginny was right. Every time she had looked at the two of them, they had been near each other, talking to each other, touching each other...

As Hermione's brain finally went click, her eyes opened wide. "You don't think? No, it's not possible... is it" A slow smile spread across her face as she fit some remaining pieces into place. It made sense. It just made sense. But how? When? And more importantly, Why? She knew that the boys' relationship had always been rather passionate. Just at the opposite end of the spectrum from "love". The way opposite end. The "mortal enemies" end, more like. That was the only piece that wouldn't fit. It was the right size, but the shape just wouldn't squish itself into Hermione's mental picture of what had been going on.

"Don't tell them anything though, okay Hermione?" Ginny looked nervous, and Hermione asked why. "I don't want to be wrong, is all. I mean, what if we say something, but we're totally wrong?" Hermione thought about that for a moment, and came to the same conclusion Ginny had come to earlier. They would need more proof, more information. And in the time it took to gather that, maybe they'd come out and be honest about the whole thing. Yes, that would be the most prudent plan. With that decided, and grateful that she had Hermione's confidence in this, Ginny moved on to more important topics.

"So, do you think they've... you know, done it?" She was practically whispering, as though afraid one of the boys was listening at the door. Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Ginny!" She hissed, though she was grinning at the same time, which rather ruined her intended effect.

"What?" Ginny shrugged. "Even if he is a Slytherin, you have to admit he's fine. I wouldn't say no." She grinned slyly, prompting a brief look of shock from her companion. Hermione somehow managed to gape and laugh at the same time.

"You should be glad that Ron doesn't know you think about things like this." Hermione lightly admonished, remembering how overprotective Ron could be of his little sister. Ginny giggled.

"Which is probably why I still haven't told Ron about Dean, now isn't it" Hermione rolled her eyes, but settled in for an evening of talking about the ever-popular topic"The Care and Training of Boys" (also sometimes referred to as "Idiots and Why We Love Them Anyway", available at your local girls' overnight for the low, low price of a bag of something with chocolate content).


	19. Leaving Grimmauld

A/N: W00t! I now have over 100 REVIEWS! Thank you all SOOO much for your support! As a thank you...

Before we get started on this chapter, I want to take a moment to answer some of the questions brought up in the reviews! Some of you have been asking really good questions, and I'll try to answer them as well as I can!

But first the reference in chapter 14, and other important things I shamelessly stole from published works. Okay, not really. I call it paying homage, since I only use things from works that I absolutely adore, and only if they work in what I'm writing. To answer an early review, YES, that line was from Artemis Fowl, something I only realized after I had written it, and liked so much that I let it stay. The reference in chapter 14 is the Triple-Thick Whippy Choco-Banana Shake, which appears in the book Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, two of my favorite authors in the universe. That's about all for the references, at least up until this point. I may slip some more in later, but I don't know. They kind of fall in without me knowing about it... heheh... I guess I read too much.

Now: THE REVIEWS!

**aliba**: I was planning to have Hermione be the one to notice the "loose ends" in Draco's story. Let's just say there's a reason Harry hasn't asked, and it's not that he's being a polite host! #wink#

**Remi**: No, I actually don't watch Queer as Folk. I want to, but we don't get good channels, and I can't afford the DVDs, and do you think my parents are going to buy them for me? Nuh-uh. I'll be buying them once I get to college, though. #counting the days# So, it's an unintended reference, but if you want to think of it like that, go right ahead! I'm happy if my readers are happy. For anyone else reading this, and wondering about that one, "Zephyr" comes from "Zephyrus", one of the... Greek gods, I believe. Had to do with winds, etc. I just thought it made an awesome name for an owl.

**Bishie**: KILL DRACO? How could you think I could do such a thing! #sobbing at the thought# I may have bruised him up a bit, but to... #sniff# never! Never! Draco will not die, I tell you! He will not! (as long as my muse lets me have my way. currently, I have no plans involving any sort of character death. I want a happy ending!) And, as I mentioned before, that line was so straight out of Artemis Fowl, into my head and out onto my comp screen before I could even think about it. And it does work so well where it is.

**AnnF**: A VERY good question! Points to you for picking up on that one! Here's my theory, which I will summarize briefly. Do you think Draco Malfoy went his whole life without doing magic, before he came to Hogwarts? How about all of the other wizarding families, especially the ones on the "Dark Side"? I think being in a magical area makes it very difficult for the Ministry to track down just who is doing what. Also, I said earlier in this fic that I merged the universes of the books and the movies (mostly to make it more convenient for me), and in the movies, Harry is seen practicing a variation on "lumos" in his bedroom on Privet Drive. Now, that screamed 'the writers haven't read the books!', but it also comes in handy here. Let's just assume that 1) the Fidelus Charm not only protects the location of Grimmauld Place, but also what goes on inside it, and 2) there is some stipulation that allows for practicing spellwork. And seriously folks, would anyone staying there turn them in?

**Muerte Roja**: #yanks on Towel!Draco's arm# Hey! No stealing my wet Draco! Get your own wet Draco! #gives life-size model of Towel!Draco as compensation#

TO ALL MY REVIEWERS! I grant unto all of thee free "GryffindorShirt!Draco" and "LycraShirt!Harry" plushies! Make merry! Read the fic, and keep reviewing!

And to all you fluff fans, prepare to be happy! I was going to have them go on a bit longer as they were, but... #mumbles# I sorta wanted to get them together faster too... #stops mumbling# SO- some fluff, a little bit of realization, and a ride on the train! Enjoy!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Chapter XXIX - Leaving Grimmauld

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Draco was musing. He had caught himself doing that on more than one occasion recently, and his own behavior was beginning to annoy him. Musing was not something he did. Sulking, certainly. He was an accomplished sulker. Also an accomplished pouter, plotter and schemer. Musing, however, was new. He wasn't quite sure that he was even going about it properly.

The subject of his musing was fairly fluid, he had gone from worrying about going back to school to worrying about his father and the Death Eaters to worrying about the "something", as they'd referred to it the night before. He had woken up a few hours earlier, once again tangled up in sheets and Harry. It was becoming a habit, and not one that he was anxious to break. And that was what had led to his current train of thought- what was going to happen when they got back to school? Because really, there was no way that little tradition was going to continue. Even if Harry wanted it to, as well, which was still in doubt. Draco wasn't even certain that he wanted it to. It was a tearing decision, either way he thought about his emotions, he couldn't be sure where they lay. Half of him wanted to walk into the school and move right into Harry's bed in Gryffindor Tower, and the other half was absolutely panicked that the first half was thinking anything of the sort. Then there was the last little bit of himself, which had exempted itself from the previous fight to remind him that he had no idea what Harry thought about any of it. Not a clue. He still really didn't have a clue what "it" was. It was... a thing. An attraction, certainly. He felt that much clearly, he just wasn't sure what he wanted out of it.

He had always been a bit attracted by Harry. Not necessarily to him, but by him. Harry was just one of those kind of people who attracted others. Being rejected by the little, dark-haired eleven-year-old that Harry had been once had stuck with him, grown into this hatred that he hadn't ever understood. But he had accepted it. Worked with it. He managed to be around the boy, even if it wasn't as a friend. He had an excuse to be near him, talk to him (well, taunt, really), touch him. Draco was realizing, a bit late, but realizing, that maybe this feeling he was having wasn't so strange and new after all. Maybe not. And that was almost a scarier thought. Terrifying, for it had connotations he didn't want to deal with, consequences he wasn't sure he could handle.

But maybe there was a chance. Harry hadn't run away from him yet. When they woke up tangled together, he didn't shove Draco away. He had even accepted Draco's kiss, and though it was brief, more of an assurance that the other boy was actually there than anything else, Harry hadn't shoved him away. He had even bought him a present a few hours later. Maybe it wasn't hopeless. 'Or maybe he's just being a good friend,' he thought, a bit sadly. He stared into the sitting room fire, watching the flames lick over the half-burned logs and up the flue, an endless stream of maybes running through his head. Thusly absorbed, he didn't even notice when the subject of his most current musing stepped into the room and sat down on the rug beside him.

"Ready to go back?" Harry inquired softly, joining in Draco's stare-at-the-fire routine. He had found, over the last few weeks, that the blond enjoyed being able to just sit and think. It wasn't something he would have associated with the Slytherin before, but somehow now seemed to fit him. Draco shrugged.

"I suppose so. It's going to be different. I bet most of my House is gone, for one. Crabbe and Goyle won't be back." He shrugged again. Harry listened interestedly. Draco hadn't before spoken of his friends (really more like 'cronies', Harry privately thought) from school, and he was curious as to why he had suddenly started.

"Why?" He ventured, hoping that his interjection wouldn't make the blond clam up. It didn't, but he got a rather pointed 'Are you dumb?' look before Draco continued.

"Isn't it quite obvious? I won't believe that you're stupid enough to not realize what's brewing." Harry looked at him sharply, causing Draco to sigh heavily. "No, I don't know exactly what. If I did, I would have told you already. But I know as well as you that something big is coming. I can feel it. It's like a storm coming in, this oppressive feeling." He shrugged and looked down at his folded legs. 'Well, that sounded stupid, now didn't it Draco?' He berated himself, wondering why he had started this conversation. He had managed to avoid it for most of the summer, and now he had gone and dug himself into it. Harry was nodding, though, not looking at him like he was some crazy person.

"I know. I've felt the same way before. And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply..." He trailed off, not quite sure how to phrase what he was getting at.

"That I am somehow privy to the Dark Lord's plans?" Draco finished, spitting out the words distastefully, but giving Harry as much of a smile as he was able to once he had. "Don't worry. I know you didn't." He sighed again, tucking his knees up near his chin and wrapping his arms around. "What are we going to do?" He asked quietly.

Harry blinked. "About Voldemort?" Draco flinched a little, but shook his head as emphatically as he could with his chin super-glued to his knees.

"At school."

Harry regarded him thoughtfully. He had been wondering the same thing, though perhaps not on as many levels as Draco had. Harry had mainly been preoccupied with how they would get the other members of Gryffindor, the other members of the DA, even, to allow Draco in. He knew his assurances would be trusted, but only so far. And that so far wasn't necessarily far enough. Draco and the other members of his House had been downright cruel and sadistic in the previous year, and he had no illusions as to the other Houses' opinons of them after that. It would be slow going at best.

"I'm sure once everyone gets to know you it'll be fine. I mean, even Ron sort of doesn't completely hate you now." He grinned, and Draco couldn't help but crack a smile in return. The youngest Weasley brother was still his harshest critic, taking everything he said in the worst possible way, and usually being smacked across the back of the head by his sister or Hermione for it.

He was rather surprised that he was getting along as well as he was with the members of Harry's little group. He would grudgingly admit that he respected Hermione, she did have the highest grades in the entire school, let alone her year, but he was surprised to find Ginny Weasley almost enjoyable to talk to. So perhaps there was one decent Weasley out of the lot. She still tended to ask him a lot about Harry, which he was slightly confused by, as she'd been friends with the boy far longer than he had. And then there was Neville Longbottom, who had been a favorite target for he and his friends in the past. It was quite a surprise to get along with him, particularly since technically it was Draco's relatives who had been responsible for Neville's parents' condition. And he was also rather shocked to find Neville almost proficient at spell work. Surprises after surprises and again. But for some reason he couldn't fathom, he was comfortable. He felt at home here, with these people he had never really spoken to, except to insult or threaten them. It was surreal, but he couldn't help but smile.

"I know. I hope so, anyway. But I wasn't really talking about that." He leaned a cheek on his far knee so that he was facing Harry. "I was talking about this." He made no gestures, just looked at Harry, expecting him to work it out. He could tell when Harry's thoughts moved in the correct direction, he got this adorable blush that made his eyes stand out even brighter, and looked distinctly uncomfortable. Draco just kept looking, which didn't really help Harry's comfort factor.

"I- I don't... wha- I... I-" Harry's little blush just intensified as he stammered.

"HARRY! Is this mine or yours?" Ron burst into the sitting room, waving a Gryffindor t-shirt around like a banner. Harry turned to him, grateful for the interruption. Draco was not so much, and managed a glower in the redhead's direction before quite pointedly turning away.

"I'm already packed. Must be yours, then." Harry shrugged, which sent Ron scampering back upstairs to add the shirt to his trunk. When he looked back, Draco had his head turned the opposite direction from before, and was now looking steadfastly at the wall.

"Look, I-" He began to address the back of Draco's head, only to have that head shake slightly, its blond mane shimmering a bit in the firelight.

"Nevermind. It was a stupid question." He mumbled. 'Stupid. Stupid! Now what are you going to do? Next you'll be declaring your intentions to switch into Gryffindor and start a Muggle Culture Club or something! Stupid! What's gotten into you!' He shook his head again, which earned him a puzzled look from Harry, though he wasn't able to see it.

They sat in silence for a while, then Draco nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt the fingers in his hair. He tensed, waiting for something, though he didn't know what. Whatever it was, it didn't happen. Harry's fingers just kept trailing through the blond strands, sometimes just combing through, sometimes taking hold of a small section and twirling it lightly before letting it fall. Draco melted as the hand made its way down to play with the hair around the nape of his neck, sending a little shiver down his spine. Then the hand moved forward and around to lighly brush the shell of his ear, encouraging him to lift his head off his knees. He did so, quaking. The hand, Harry's hand, kept moving. Harry's wrist twisted, bringing the backs of his fingers around to skim lightly across Draco's face, tracing the line of his cheekbone. Fingertips lightly brushed across his lips, making him suck in a tiny gasp as they floated over, leaving Draco suddenly and completely aware of what 'trails of fire' felt like. Then the hand spread itself out, cupping Draco's far cheek neatly and turning his face to Harry's. Draco suddenly and without warning found himself unable to think.

"It wasn't stupid." Harry's thumb brushed across his cheekbone, sending a little thrill vibrating through the blond. Harry was so close that he could feel the body heat radiating from him, despite the fire. Feeling a sudden wave of bravery, or perhaps pure idiocy, Draco lifted his own hand to cover Harry's, and turned his head just far enough that he could plant a soft, swift and unsure kiss on the other boy's palm. He felt Harry stiffen slightly and raised his eyes to meet Harry's, relaxing his grip on the hand somewhat. If Harry wanted his hand back, he could take it. He didn't. Draco gulped, wishing his brave streak would just end already.

"Is this okay?" He was sure he hadn't meant that to come out a whisper, but his voice had other ideas. Draco could feel the knot in his stomach, tightening more and more by the second as he waited for Harry's response. Slowly, Harry's thumb began to brush over his cheekbone again, and he leaned into the touch, letting his eyes flutter closed. If this was the last time he'd get to do this, he would make sure to enjoy-

"Yes." Draco's eyes snapped open and his hand fell away, taking Harry's with it. Harry was smiling at him. "I think it's very okay, actually." Harry admitted, mumbling toward the end. Draco's grip on his hand shifted, from holding to holding, and Harry found that he definitely didn't mind. It was a bit odd, as they were holding the wrong two hands, but as Draco shifted almost into Harry's lap in order to make them both more comfortable, he found he didn't mind that, either.

When Mr. Weasley's voice rang out from the front hall, reminding everyone to hurry up, they stood, dropping the connection between their hands for the moment it took to brush themselves off, then resuming, this time with the proper hands.

"We'll work it out. It'll be okay." Harry said softly, as much for himself as for Draco, and he willed himself to believe it. What was he getting himself into?

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A few minutes later, most of their trunks were piled in the front hallway of Grimmauld Place, a grim reminder for most that school was only a few hours away. Ron was busy looking glum, and Hermione's chatter about how wonderful their classes were going to be this year probably wasn't helping. Neville had last been spotted in the kitchen, calling and searching for Trevor, with Ginny's help. Draco had watched these proceedings amusedly; the Weasley girl was barely able to contain her giggles every time she called out to the toad. Harry was perched atop the pile of luggage, thinking.

What, exactly, had possessed him to do that? One minute he was flailing about, desperate to come up with some kind of answer that would get him out of the trap Draco had so neatly laid for him, and which he had stepped right into; and the next minute, he was scraping and clawing to get back into it again. It was just... He sighed heavily, drawing a half-glance from Draco but no one else. Taking a breath, he decided to think through this whole thing as reasonably as he could. Point One- what should be point one? He wasn't entirely sure. 'You just had a severe urge to kiss a boy!' was making a play for it, so was 'Said boy is Draco Malfoy!' But really, the only thought that had a serious claim to be point one was; 'But it feels right, even with all that.' Harry could feel the beginnings of what would surely become a migraine if he kept going like this.

'It's Draco. Okay, you know Draco. You've known two Dracos. Sort of. So what's the change? Find it, it has to have something to do with this mess.' Harry thought about it. What was the difference between the boy he'd shared a mutual hatred with for five years, and the boy who had been cuddled into his side less than half an hour before? He wasn't sure. It seemed like there should have been some major change, something he could identify. 'Well, idiot,' he suddenly realized, 'He probably hasn't ever been away from them before.' The them didn't need to be elaborated on. Draco's father, the DeathEaters, Voldemort himself, perhaps. So was that Draco from before just a mask? Or was this one? One of them had to be fake, didn't it? What other explanation was there?

Thinking about it, the Draco he had known in years past was like a vicious caricature of the one he knew now. That Draco would be the result, if someone took his Draco's still-present though much-subdued pride, slightly vicious tongue, and rather sharp wit, expanded them, and added in a dose of mean. So did that mean that his Draco was the real one? Harry desperately wanted to believe his own conclusion, but he couldn't be sure. He just... couldn't. An hour before, he could have said it with certainty, but suddenly everything had been set on end. The nice, static world had become a kaleidoscope, and he felt like he couldn't remember which way was up. And the worst of it was, he couldn't stop blushing whenever he looked at Draco. One thought finally rang out, loud and clear. 'I need to talk to Hermione.'

He resolved to do so, as soon as they got on the train. Until then, he hopped down from his perch to aid in the everlasting search for Trevor.

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The ride to King's Cross was uneventful. Harry was even partially glad that Draco had stayed behind at Grimmauld Place for a while (he would be leaving a few minutes behind them, with an Order escort to make sure he arrived safely). Draco hadn't been happy about it, but he understood that it would be far too obvious of all of them if he just-so-happened to arrive with Harry Potter and Company. In the same car. In public, where everyone, everyone could see them. Genius he was not, but he could see stupidity when it was staring him in the face, and had agreed to stay back and arrive a few minutes behind the others. Though he had made sure to pout eloquently as they left ahead of him.

Harry just wasn't sure the blood vessels in his face would be able to stand the car ride if Draco had been with them. He knew, with unwavering certainty, that Draco would have taken the seat next to him, and that they would have been squashed close together for the entire trip. Thighs, legs, arms, shoulders, hips, all in contact. Harry silently screamed at himself for starting to blush at even the thought of it. 'How are you ever going to have sex with him if you can't even think about him without blushing?' Harry, who had been dragging his trunk along towards Platform 9 3/4, stopped dead in his tracks.

Hermione had been walking half a pace ahead of him, and was suddenly aware that his presence was missing. She half-turned and, catching sight of Harry's still form, called ahead for the others to wait. The little party stopped, everyone looking at Harry, searching for a reason for his sudden stoppage. Hermione approached him carefully, wondering what could possibly be wrong. Harry's face was white as snow, and his pupils were dilated, staring into nothing. She could barely make out a strangled noise coming from his throat.

Worried, Hermione asked, "Harry? Are you okay? Are you choking?" She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder lightly. The touch seemed to trigger some sort of change, because Harry's white face suddenly filled up bright red, and he blinked several times. He looked at Hermione, who he seemed to vaguely register at first, then suddenly recognize.

"Wha- Ah, I'm fine. F-fine. Really, fine. Y- yeah." He nodded a little, biting his lip nervously with none of the red draining away from his face. He cleared his throat awkwardly, wiping his palms on the shirt that Draco had left out for him that morning and taking hold of his luggage cart again. "Sorry. Let's go, hm?" He started walking towards the rest of the group, leaving a slightly confused Hermione behind him.

"What was that all about?" She wondered aloud, looking curiously at Harry as she followed.

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Harry and company were already firmly ensconced in their cabin on the train when Draco arrived on the platform, accompanied by a stern-looking woman in her mid-fifties. Harry watched them out the window for a moment. The woman appeared to trip over nothing, but righted herself quickly, shooting Draco a firm look to stop him from laughing. It didn't appear to be necessary. To Harry's eyes, Draco looked wound tighter than a piano wire, though he knew that to everyone else, the trademark smirk was enough to convince them that all was well in Malfoy-dom. Only one thing was confusing Harry.

"Who is that woman? I haven't seen her around before." He sounded vaguely suspicious to Hermione, something which she carefully catalogued to share with Ginny later. Until then, she would have a good laugh at Harry's expense.

"Harry, that's Tonks. Remember Tonks?" Hermione giggled as Harry blinked rapidly and smacked his forehead against the glass of the train window.

"Sorry, 'Mione. I guess I'm a little out of it today, aren't I?" Hermione was far from the only one who answered in the affirmative.

"And what was that earlier?" Ron inquired from his seat beside Hermione, "Why'd you stop in the middle of the station like that? Was your scar hurting again or something?" Harry smiled a little at the instant concern in his best friend's voice, shaking his head at the same time.

"No. It's alright. I just... spaced out for a second." He tried to pose his face in a reassuring look, willing away the blush that was threatening to come back at the thought of what had really caused his brief shock. "Er... anyway, Hermione, can I talk to you for a minute?" She nodded.

"Of course." He watched her for a moment, during which she showed no signs of movement.

"In private?" He hinted, with a slight nod towards the door. Hermione's eyes widened briefly at the realization, then she stood.

"We'll be back in a moment, then." She commented to the compartment's other occupants, looking at Harry for his agreement. He nodded it. The two exited to seek another compartment, preferably one free of inhabitants.

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Draco's arrival on Platform 9 3/4 was anticlimactic. He had half been expecting to be greeted with either a troop of Aurors or a troop of Death Eaters, not that he was sure which would have been better. As it was, he was greeted with the sight of ... nothing. Or at least, nothing unusual. The Hogwarts Express sat there steaming in all its crimson glory, waiting to transport the students to yet another year of sleeping, eating and goofing off, with some occasional class and homework thrown in the gaps. He sighed a bit as his cousin-turned-escort tripped over her own two feet. Again. He noticed the glare she sent his way, but didn't have the energy to respond in any way. He was using far too much energy already, being constantly on the alert for anything out-of-the-ordinary. It kept not coming, and he kept getting more and more tense by the second.

"Draco!" Draco whorled even as he recognized the voice coming from behind him. He sighed again, this time in relief.

"Pansy, dear. How was your summer?" He smiled at the Slytherin girl. Despite her tendency to be... well, the word "bitch" came to mind, so did "slut", although Draco knew for a fact that she actually wasn't, Pansy was one of his few close associates within his House. Also one of the few who he knew would not turn him in to the Dark Lord anytime soon. Or ever. In other words, a friend. And a friend was just about exactly what Draco needed at that point.

"Better than yours." Pansy replied bluntly, to which Draco conceded.

"Possibly. What have you heard?" Pansy smirked a little at him.

"You must have hit your head or something, if you think it's going to be that easy. We'll talk on the train, alright?" She started to leave without giving him a chance to answer. "Blaise and I are in the third car from the end!" She called out over he shoulder as she made her way down the length of the train. Draco sighed even as he smiled after her. Some things, then, hadn't changed much. If at all.

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Harry and Hermione actually managed to find an empty compartment on the same car; rather a feat, really. The problem was that once they found it, Harry didn't know where to begin. Luckily, he didn't have to.

"Let me guess," Hermione started, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, peering steadily out at Harry, "It's cute, blond, and answers to 'Draco'?" She deduced her correctness by the blush that flowed over Harry's cheeks. "So, what's going on? If it's about our blessing, you have it. Even if I have to beat Ron into giving his, but you know he's only looking out for you. Ginny and I are all for it." Harry blinked.

"Wha- You and Ginny? You knew? How could you know? I didn't even know until this morning!" Harry was gaping, and Hermione took pity on him.

"We're girls, Harry. We're trained to be observant when it comes to these sorts of things. We have known for about two weeks." Harry was still gaping, though at this point he looked a bit like a fish in a net, gasping for air and struggling to free itself. "Well, honestly, Harry! You two have been all over each other since before I got here! You can't expect us not to notice. Did something happen? Did he hurt you, Harry, because if he did, I know several excellent curses that would do just the trick-"

She was cut off as Harry shook his head. "No. It's just... you knew? You could have told me! I feel as if I've been run over by the Knight Bus and here you are telling me you knew already!" Hermione chuckled.

"Of course I couldn't tell you. You'd have run away screaming, and don't tell me you wouldn't have. I know you better than that. You have to realize it for yourself, or you'll never accept it. But anyway, now that you know I know, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Harry collected himself, but just barely. Whatever he had been expecting from this conversation, it certainly wasn't that one of his best friends already knew exactly what he was going to tell her- worse, had known it before he had. He had been hoping to have some time to sort his thoughts out before the discussion got to this point.

"I'm not sure, really. It's just..." He trailed off, and she nodded at him to continue.

"It's just?" She prompted, after a pause.

"He seems so different. You know, from how he's always been. I mean, how can I suddenly like him at all, let alone like this?" He hung his head, suddenly finding his shoes to be exceedingly interesting. "He's been downright awful, to all of us. You especially. How can you be okay with this?" His look was almost imploring, and Hermione suddenly felt that there had to be more to this than what Harry was bringing up.

"Do you like him, Harry?" Hermione probed, trying to get him to open up a little. He nodded. "And does he like you?" she tried again. This time, she was rewarded with a shrug. "Then what's the problem?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know. Maybe there isn't one, I just don't know what to do! I get near him, and I can't think straight anymore!" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hermione was smiling beatifically at him.

"Harry, you two have always been like that around each other. The reaction just changed, that's all. You two always were connected. If you asked anyone in the school about either of you, the other's name would pop up at some point. You don't act like that for five years without some sort of reason; maybe this is that reason. Harry," she laid a hand on his shoulder, "Don't worry about it. Just do what feels right. That's all there is to it. And if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask." With that, Hermione returned to their compartment, leaving Harry to wonder exactly when his conversation with Hermione had become Hermione's conversation with him.

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Draco found his housemates just where Pansy had told him they would be. Blaise had apparently purchased half the country in the form of sweets, which were spread out all over the unoccupied portions of the compartment. Draco chuckled, a sound which alerted them to his presence.

"Draco! You've found us. Good." Blaise finished the last bite of his pumpkin pasty before continuing. "Pansy said she'd told you. Took you a while, though." Draco nodded.

"I still had to load my things." Pansy nodded her agreement.

"I saw you got a new trunk. And was that an owl? You finally got one?" She had been aware for years that Draco wanted one of his own. She probably would have gotten him one, but of course he would have turned it down on the spot. He was quite insistent that he did not need 'charity'. However, at her statement, Draco blushed and glanced down at the floor in an effort to hide it.

"Yeah." He finally uttered, feigning indifference as best he could.

"Must've got it when you were in Diagon Alley, yeah?" Blaise lounged back in his seat, letting his long legs fill up half the compartment. And effectively blocking the door. "I saw you there." He said it, bluntly and obviously as a cap to his previous question. Draco gulped, rethinking that day. Blaise hadn't been in the luggage shop, and that had been the only time that whole day when he and Harry had been apart. Which meant...

"What are you implying?" He carefully sculpted the words, executing his own 'fill up as much space as possible' routine. Blaise shrugged.

"Nothing, nothing. I'm not implying anything, Draco. You know me, that's not my style." Draco had to agree with that. Blaise was smooth, but subtlety was not his strongest point. He wasn't implying. He was calmly informing Draco that he knew. What that meant, Draco wasn't sure. Pansy sighed and kicked them both in the shins, scowling as both yelped and retracted their legs.

"Stop that. You'd taken up all my leg room, and I don't appreciate it." She sniffed. "Anyway, Draco, we heard about, well... you know. With your mother and all. I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but if you ever do, we're here."

Draco nodded, his face expressionless. He didn't want to talk about it, but it was nice, in a way, to know that someone knew the whole truth, and was still speaking to him. After a long pause, he half-smiled, and dug into the cockroach clusters, which had obviously been saved for him. Pansy and Blaise exchanged small smiles of their own, then proceeded to fill the rest of the train ride with the usual idle chatter.


	20. Hogwarts

Chapter 20 – Hogwarts

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The train ride passed without incident, unless you counted the First Year girl who got a severe case of car sickness and spent several minutes throwing up, but that is her story, not ours. Harry and Draco didn't see each other during the ride, though it seemed odd to many on the train that their mostly-annual confrontation didn't take place. Thus deprived of their usual entertainments, the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry remained largely in their compartments until the train pulled in to Hogsmeade station. Harry smiled and waved at Hagrid, who was present with his usual "Firs' Years this way!" cry. The half-giant waved back cheerily, and Harry was gratified to find that he wasn't sporting any obvious injuries- perhaps he had seen reason and sent Grawp back to the giants, but more likely, he simply had his 'brother' tied up more securely.

With the first years taken care of, the carriages arrived to transport the older students. Harry watched the thestrals coolly. He didn't like the way they seemed to look at him, as if they could see his blood flowing beneath his skin. He felt some semblance of what he assumed one walking in the desert would feel, if they noticed a vulture watching their every move. He shuddered. His thestral ride to the Ministry of Magic was taken out of necessity- he had no desire to associate with the ominous looking creatures any more than he had to. What he felt, though, was nothing compared to what Draco felt as he observed the creatures for the first time.

He had marked Harry's head in the crowd as he'd gotten off the train, and he had kept an eye on the other boy, subtly moving in his direction while making it seem as though he was moving with the crowd. The thestrals' appearance, though, had made him lose his concentration, and he took several quick steps closer to the dark-haired boy, not caring who saw. The winged, sable horses were looking at him, he could feel it. He knew that they could smell the blood on him; never mind how he knew, he just did. He could feel it, deep inside, and he had the illogical fear that if he didn't hold on to something solid, they would destroy him. And, at that particular moment, the most solid thing he could think of was Harry. He wasn't sure if he had really moved that close, or if Harry had somehow sensed that he was needed, but as he reached out, he felt his hand gripped firmly in the other boy's. He squeezed it on instinct, and, if anything, Harry only pulled him closer; close enough that he could feel the warmth of Harry's arm against his. It was comforting.

"Are those things...?" Draco was not so stupid as to say this entirely out loud; rather, he accomplished a sort of half-mumble in Harry's direction. Harry nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"Thestrals. Yeah, they are. They won't hurt you. We actually rode on them last year." Somehow, Draco didn't find this as comforting as he supposed he should. It took the edge off the fear, but nothing could change the feeling he had that they were sizing him up, wondering which part would be the tastiest... he shuddered. After a long moment, though, he dropped his hold on Harry's hand and stepped away as well as he could without attracting attention, suddenly aware that he was holding hands with Harry Potter in front of the entire school. The entire school, though, seemed not to notice or care. The boys had been at the back of the crowd, and the only people who had the occasion to notice were two giggling girls on one side, and one boy wearing a rather smug expression on the other.

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The annual Hogwarts Sorting and welcoming banquet was noticeably different than usual. The students had begun, of course, by looking for their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but that seat at the head table was conspicuously not occupied. As usual, Dumbledore half-explained this, informing the students that their new teacher was delayed by personal matters, but would be arriving before the start of classes the next day. Harry noticed that Snape seemed as sour as ever that he had not been given the position, but Harry was personally quite glad of that. But beyond that noticeable absence, there was still a major difference in the mood of the Great Hall this year. It was subdued, even quiet.

The reason for this was probably that one side of the room was much less populated than usual. In fact, the Slytherin table was teetering on the edge of 'empty'. Harry did a quick mental cataloguing, going through the years as best as he could. It looked as though all of the Seventh Years were gone; the Sixth was almost violently depleted. The menacing bulks of Crabbe and Goyle were gone, just as Draco had predicted. Even as low as the Third Year, the numbers were suffering. Most (if not all, Harry wasn't entirely sure) of the Second Years remained, and the Sorting produced an average number of new First Years, who looked rather uncomfortable as they took their places with their new House. From what Harry had seen, it had been Draco and Blaise Zabini who had taken it upon themselves to shove everyone down the benches until most of the gaps filled in. While this seemed to make the First Years more comfortable, it also showed just how much of the House was missing. They only filled between half and two-thirds of the table. And then Harry realized the most startling thing of all. The Slytherin Quidditch team was gone.

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Draco had actually noticed the same thing, and much faster than Harry had. Of course, it was his House, so that was to be expected. Still, without the missing members, they would be hard-pressed to field a team at all, much less a team that stood half a chance against the powerhouse that Gryffindor had become in the previous few years. Draco grimaced. As the only remaining member of the team, the Captain position was obviously his, provided that everything proceeded normally- which meant that it was his problem to get a team ready. And the way things looked, it appeared that Slytherin House would be reduced to holding open tryouts.

Draco railed against the idea; it offended all his sensibilities. Slytherin had never had to hold tryouts; talent was simply identified and recruited. Or bought, with money or influence, it didn't matter. Draco knew his own spot on the team would have been harder to get had his father not stepped in. Still, he also knew that he wasn't a bad Seeker. On the contrary, he was actually a very good one. The problem was that he was generally flying against Harry Potter, the widely-acknowledged wunderkind of Quidditch. And compared to that, he knew, he would never really be seen as anything above 'good'.

Briefly, Draco wondered if Harry would be given the Captain spot for Gryffindor, now that everything had been restored to pre-Umbridge status. Though he had had fun enforcing the rules of the 'regime', Draco knew he probably wouldn't have been anywhere near as sadistic if Quidditch had continued undisturbed. Beating the Hufflepuff team was lovely, but the only real challenge had been in Gryffindor, and that challenge had been grounded along with most of the team. He had spent the entire year itching for a really good match, and he knew that he could finally expect it again in the coming year, whether Harry was Captain or not. Privately, he felt Harry deserved it far more than 'the Weasel'. Harry WAS the Gryffindor team; the whole thing revolved around him. Briefly, his thoughts turned back to the beating he had received at Harry's hands. No other Seeker in the school was that passionate about the game, was that passionate about anything. Even if it was burning you, you couldn't- wouldn't- move yourself away from that kind of fire. Draco's eyes flicked over to the Gryffindor table, and he could feel himself grinning with anticipation. Blaise noticed.

"What's got you looking so happy?" He drawled, snagging the pitcher of pumpkin juice that was making its way around. Draco blinked.

"What? Oh. Just that we're going to have proper Quidditch back again." Blaise caught Draco's meaning, and nodded his agreement.

"Yeah. It was fun winning and all last year, but it's not the same. I'd almost rather lose than have to keep winning like that. It was boring. And they still managed to beat us, in the end. Well, not us, but you know." Draco did. That had stung. "Still, what are we going to do for a team?"

Draco thought for a moment. "Open tryouts to fill up, I guess. I'm Seeking, with you and Pansy we have three. Millicent might make a good Beater, what do you think?"

Blaise was nodding. "Pansy'll Keep; you know she can be vicious at that when she wants to be. I can run the Chasers, but lord knows we'll have to train the new ones. If we add the alternates, we'll be pulling from Third Year before we've got enough decent players."

Draco sighed. Getting a team together could be done. There were plenty of students left who could, with time, become a force to be reckoned with. Getting a winning team together, though, in the short amount of time they had, would take a miracle. Still, the least they could do was to begin to train what was left of the House, in the hopes that they could bring some sort of challenge to the pitch the next year. He resolved to talk to Snape later about reserving the pitch for tryouts. It was embarrassing, but necessary. And, he realized, a fitting irony. They had made Gryffindor do the same the year before.

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Harry's arrival back at Gryffindor tower was nothing spectacular. The only bit of interest occurred when they got the new password (which, incidentally, was "Bergamot". Apparently, aside from being a plant, this was also the name of one of the Fat Lady's lovers some time ago, and she had struck on the idea that it would make a fine password. Ron made hilarious choking noises through this whole explanation, and was elbowed viciously by Hermione, who seemed to find the whole thing rather nostalgic and sweet). Harry didn't really feel like staying up, and so he retired early to the Sixth Year boys' dorm. As usual, the house elves had brought all their luggage up. Harry unlocked his trunk, planning to get his schoolbooks and supplies arranged on his desk before going to bed. What he found, though, was a thick envelope, with his name inscribed in emerald ink on the front. In very familiar handwriting. With a resigned sigh, Harry picked it up and opened it- it was unsealed, and filled with several thick, folded layers of parchment. Each one was filled with the same tight, neat handwriting.

"Draco..." Harry mumbled, confused, as he unfolded the sheets and started reading.

:_Harry,_

_By this point, I'm sure you're wondering two things- what this letter is about, and how I managed to get it into your trunk. To answer the second question first, I'm not going to tell you. That will remain my little secret. As for what this letter is about, it's quite simple. Despite my best efforts, your fashion sense has not manifested itself in any form. I had hoped that by the time we arrived back at school I would not still have to be laying out your clothes. Unfortunately, you still haven't realized important facts of life- for instance, that you look absolutely fabulous in lycra, and horrid in pastels. Anyway, the point is that I will not be seen with you if you continue to dress like you just moved from the homeless shelter. So, I have enclosed a list of outfits that I will allow you to wear. And no, if the right shirt is dirty, you may not substitute. Don't even try me on this one._

_Be good, don't pretend you didn't read this letter, and I'll see you in class tomorrow._

_Yours,_

_D.M._:

Harry laughed. He had actually been thinking of pretending he hadn't seen it, just to annoy the other boy. Draco pouting was something Harry never thought he'd be looking forward to seeing, but he had come to find that the feeling in his stomach when the blond's nose crinkled was something he liked.

He glanced at the rest of the parchment. True to form, Draco's list was all-inclusive. He was hereby forbidden from wearing briefs with the black chinos. Why, of course, he didn't know, but he assumed it was some obscure fashion rule that no one had bothered to tell him about (In actuality, it was because Draco firmly believed that Harry's ass looked delectable in the snug pants, and underwear lines would entirely ruin the view). The whole idea was ludicrous, but oh-so-Draco. He refolded his 'instructions' and set them on his desk, then proceeded to unpack. As he arranged his supplies in his desk, he glanced back down at the envelope.

"See you tomorrow." He whispered, smiling to himself, as he turned to crawl into bed.


	21. Appearances

**_VERY IMPORTANT_** Okay, author "duh" moment here. I have re-edited chapter 3 to NOT include the invisibility cloak, because I like this better. Thank you to my beta and to Bottlebrushtail for informing my of my blonde moment. Sorry! (the plot of ch. 3 has not been altered, just the appearance of the cloak),

A/N- Wow, this update is right on the heels of the last one, isn't it? My muse attacked me today, and I went nuts on writing. It helped that I had all of physics class to work on this, because we're two days out from spring break, and decided to forgo physics in favor of watching Jack Nicholson monologues from various movies, followed by watching "A Few Good Men". Vive la Physics!

So, don't expect updates to come this frequently on a regular basis, but I'm trying.

**In other news:** It's my birthday! As of 5:28 on March 22 (i.e.- tomorrow morning) I am a fully legal adult! W00t! That means I can write the "fun" scenes for this fic (sorry, not in this chapter, unfortunately), and I am actually legally allowed to read what I've written! Isn't that shibby? I think so.

For my birthday, I would like reviews, please! I would be extra-motivated if I can get to 150 before the end of Wednesday (my last day of school before break)! #wink, wink, nudge, nudge#

**To encourage you**- More responses to reviewers!

**Honeyduked** – Good questions! I hope a couple of them got answered. I have plans concerning Lucius, don't worry about that. As for the other questions, they'll reveal themselves shortly. Please be patient! I'll try to get to everything, in time.

**Diana Joy**- I feel your pain! I, too, am in denial about Siri, and I refuse to believe that JK would just kill him like that. The fact that he just slipped past the veil makes me think she has plans concerning him. I'm probably wrong, but I'm not about to give up hope! #Proudly sporting "**Siri lives, and Remmy is with him!**" t-shirt# (and yes, I totally just stole that from the Frodo&Sam fans, but it works so well…)

**Marthsgirls**- I'm glad you like my story! I have to say, the long HPDM fics tend to vary just as much as the oneshots. I've read some horrible fics that go on for chapter after chapter. But, then again, I've read some that I had to come back and reread multiple times, just because I loved them so much. I hope you find the good, avoid the bad, and gain the wisdom to tell the difference before you get ten chapters into it! - A couple of my personal favorites in the 'longfic' category? _"Unthinkable Thoughts"_ by Aidan Lynch (the boys' book of spells is not to be missed!), _"Secrets of the Forbidden Broomcloset"_ by Anthea Rose (if only I had as many reviews…), and _"Left My Heart"_ by Emma Grant (an AU, but a good one, with some lovely fanart. It's not on FFN tho. Just google it). Also, if you want good, solid humor, check out _"All's Fair"_ by Sputzo (available on my favorites list, though I should go add the other two...and make sure you look up the plant. It really does make it funnier). Hope some of those can tide you over until I manage to update again!

**Brionyjae**- 2 out of 3 ain't bad! The girls were Herm and Ginny. The boy, however… didn't I say they were on different 'sides'? #this is my oh-so-subtle attempt at being sneaky. How'm I doin' so far?# Yeah, yeah, it's Blaise again. I did tell you all to watch out for him, didn't I?

**Fefs**- #waves magic author wand# Wish granted! Start reading!

**Morena Evensong**- I will be playing with the Slytherin Quidditch team. Don't they deserve something? I mean, really! Despite Harry's remarkable talent, JK lets Gryffindor get lucky a lot. I will be nice to Slytherin (though I make no Quidditch cup promises), especially with all the nasty people gone (I scowl at Marcus Flint, who was ugly in the movie). Now they're more 'cocky and arrogant' than 'evil and DeathEater-ish'. Just the way I like 'em. And, though I suppose I could have made it clearer, there are students missing from other Houses. What really isn't supposed to be made clear is how many are gone because they're Death Eaters, and how many are gone because their parents thought they might be safer at home. #we know they aren't, but parents can be illogical# That's something that might come into play later, might not. I have to see how the ripples in the plot progress.

**Nightscanr3**- Didn't he tell you? That's Draco's little secret… #but maybe you'll find out later anyway#

Read, and enjoy the fluff! Oh, and the whole "plot development" bit, but I know you're all just here for the kissing part, sooo… I won't kid myself. #sigh#

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Chapter 21 – Appearances

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Harry was dreaming again. He could tell that much, but this dream seemed different from the ones he had had before. He remembered them clearly, all of a sudden, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why he hadn't remembered them before. The figures of three women flashed through his mind, and he spun around quickly, expecting one or the other to be standing just behind him. There was no one there, but the room he was in was intimately familiar. Why, though, was he dreaming of being in the Great Hall? He looked around again, more carefully this time. The long House tables were gone, and his footsteps echoed loudly in the large, stone room. There. There was someone sitting at... no, on, the head table. A woman, he could tell, but he was too far back in the Hall to see her clearly. She had her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she was wearing jeans rather than the sundresses that the women in his previous dreams had.

He strode forward, steps resounding in the air. The woman on the table watched him come, letting her legs swing off the edge. He finally got close enough to make out her features. Her hair was and interesting shade of ash blonde, with highlights almost as light as Draco's platinum and lowlights almost as dark as his own raven mop. Still, she bore a striking resemblance to all of the other women he had met before, in the flower field. Was this another 'sister'? He couldn't be sure. There was something in her face to remind him of each of the others; something in her eyes reminded him of the grandmotherly woman of the poppy field, but her smile was that of the girl he remembered from the dream he had had the night Draco arrived on his doorstep. Despite those resemblances, however, her posture suggested more of the bubbly one that he had dreamed of at Grimmauld Place.

"Harry. It's good to see you. We trust you are well?" She inclined her head in polite inquiry.

"We?" Harry questioned, a bit wary still. Ocean eyes locked on him. The woman smiled.

"You're getting better at this. Very good. If you couldn't handle us, you would never be able to handle the Guardian. But that is a conversation for later. Yes, we. We are three sisters, as you may know. You have met us, though you do not know our names. That is as it should be. It is we who should call upon you, not you upon us. However, we felt it best to come to you in this form beforehand. Does it suit us?" She spread her arms, as though inviting his scrutiny. He simply nodded.

"You said beforehand. Before what? And why do you need a form? What was wrong with the other three?" The woman laughed.

"Oh, you are getting good. Keep paying attention, you may yet stand a chance. As to why we required this form; well, we couldn't agree on which of our individual forms might be the best. So, a compromise! As to what this is before, you will know soon. We can't expect you to go in unprepared. First of all, that would be stupid, and we are never stupid. Second, an ignorant helper is no help at all, only a hindrance. And third, we can only access one of you this way, and even that is dangerous. We are far too traceable when we do things like this, at least to those who know what to look for. And believe us, Harry, our mutual enemy knows what to look for."

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You mean Voldemort." It was a statement, not a question. The woman nodded.

"Indeed. There is a great unbalance developing, and if he succeeds in his plans..." She sighed, looking beyond Harry and into her own mind. "We must teach you, and your partner. And there is no better place to teach than a school." She shrugged, and Harry was disconcerted by the sheer humanness of the gesture. "You must be taught how to follow, and he must be taught how to guide. Both of you must be taught how to handle what you will find. And there's the Guardian to deal with, of course. But all that will come later; such knowledge takes time, and we haven't much of that, unfortunately."

"Not much time?" Harry was getting confused again, though at least it seemed that he wasn't going to be thrust into anything uninformed. Not that anyone would ever do something like that to him, of course. Of course. "I'm still not quite sure what you're talking about."

The woman smiled enigmatically. "If you did, we would not have chosen you. Not that we had many other options." She slid down off the edge of the table to stand directly in front of Harry, and he was suddenly aware that she was not much taller than he was. Somehow, she had seemed larger before. "We will speak again, very soon. Until then, sleep well. You'll have much more to deal with, sooner than you might think." She looked at him a bit sadly, then reached out to touch a finger to his forehead.

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Draco woke that morning with the sense that something was very wrong. Well, not wrong, perhaps, but certainly different than it should have been. For one thing, he was too warm. The dungeons were notoriously cold in the mornings, no matter how warm the weather or how well the house elves kept the fires burning. He usually woke up shivering, but this particular morning he wished nothing more than to snuggle back down into the covers and go back to sleep. It was the reason for the warmth that kept him from doing so. His leg was trapped under something heavy. Something heavy and moving. His arm was thrown across what seemed to be the same thing, and he could feel something pressing down around his waist. Putting all of this together as rapidly as a brain on Monday morning could, Draco came to the inescapable conclusion that there was someone other than himself in his bed.

And then he opened his eyes.

And realized that there wasn't someone in his bed.

_He_ was in _someone's_ bed.

Someone named Harry Potter.

He had opened his eyes to a see the dark mass of Harry's hair poking out of a sea of red; shades of rich fabrics all warmed by their combined body heat. It was comfortable; oh, so comfortable. For a moment, Draco was quite certain that he was dreaming. Then he heard the rather obnoxious snoring from outside the curtains.

No, his subconscious would never have inserted other, snoring occupants in the room. Which meant that he was really in Gryffindor Tower, in Harry's bed. And he had absolutely no idea how he had gotten there.

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Harry was awakened a bit differently. Someone was shaking him.

"Erg... Ron, sod off. I'm sleeping." He mumbled, making an effort to roll over. Unfortunately, he inadvertently rolled another person on top of him.

"I'm not Weasel. And could you please get off my arm?" The voice in his ear caused Harry's eyes to snap open. They met a pair of grey eyes, less than an inch in front of his face, belonging to a certain familiar blond. He opened his mouth, only to have it covered by Draco's non-trapped hand.

"Don't yell. No one else is awake, and I don't exactly want to get caught here. Particularly since I have no explanation as to how I came to be here, and because my reputation concerning you isn't exactly spotless. First off, though, will you PLEASE get off my arm?" He made the effort of wiggling the appendage, which made Harry aware that he was laying on it. He rolled back slightly, and Draco removed it, sighing and shaking it out.

"A bit mashed, but no harm done." He took his hand away from Harry's mouth, and Harry sat up.

"What are you doing in here? How'd you get in?" He was more perplexed than mad- after all, Draco hadn't technically done anything but wake him up. Well, at least that he was aware of, but he didn't sense anything wrong. Draco sighed.

"I don't know."

Harry blinked, incredulous. "You don't know?"

Draco nodded.

"You don't know how you got past the Fat Lady? You don't know how you managed to sneak your way into my bed? How can you not know that?" Harry could feel a bit of irrational anger rising. Was Draco lying to him? And if so, why?

Draco was sighing, clasping crimson sheets in tight fists. "I don't know. I honestly don't. After the banquet, I got the password from Snape. I'm still a prefect, you know." Harry nodded. He did know. "I took the First Years down to the dungeons, showed them their rooms. I went back down to talk to Blaise and Pansy for a while about putting the Quidditch team back together, then I went to bed like usual. 'S a bit empty with so many people gone, though. Anyway, when I woke up, I was here. I don't even remember dreaming anything unusual." He shook his head, and looked at Harry imploringly, begging him to believe. Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"So somehow, you got from the dungeons all the way here, and you can't remember how?" Draco nodded slowly.

"Yeah."

Harry bit his lip. "Alright. Well, I'm not mad, or anything, but you should probably get back before everyone wakes up." A quick check of the clock by his bedside informed them that it was a little after 5:30 in the morning. "We've got a while, you should be fine. Ah..." he seemed to be pondering something important, and Draco let him think. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind.

"I'll walk you down. It'll give me a chance to ask the Fat Lady if she noticed anything last night. Wait here a second." Harry pulled down the covers and slipped through the hangings. Draco sat quietly, listening to the activity outside the thick drapes. He heard the distinct sound of snoring, which still permeated the still air every few seconds. In addition, he heard Harry doing something at the foot of the four-poster. A moment later, Harry reappeared, holding something silvery in his hand. Draco gaped.

"Is that what I think it is?" He asked wonderingly, stretching out a hand to run his fingers over the cloth. It shimmered, even in the dim light. Harry's eyes were sparkling, like a kid with a new toy that he just had to show off.

"Yeah. It was my dad's." He sounded proud of that, but sad as well. Draco noted the tone, understanding, but was quickly distracted again by the cloak.

"So this is how you do it..." He whispered.

Harry blinked owlishly at him. "Huh?"

Draco looked at his confused face and laughed softly. "Get around the school without getting caught. I could never figure that out. Guess I know now." He was smiling brightly, still fingering the cloak. "I've always wanted to see one of these."

"Well," Harry shrugged, "Now you get to use one. Put it on." Draco's hand paused just above the cloak.

"Me?" He seemed shocked. And, in fact, he was. Knowing that Harry had such a rare object was already more trust than he had ever expected to receive. No matter what seemed to be growing between the two of them, such a thing... In a way, he was touched, but he felt incredibly unsure. "Are you sure?"

Harry sighed and seized the fabric, throwing it over the blond's shoulders and making everything below his collar disappear. Draco jumped, startled, and Harry laughed.

"Wow..." He extended an arm outside the cloak, then retracted it, marveling at its disappearance and reappearance. Harry watched amusedly for a moment, but a particularly loud snore from the direction of Ron's bed snapped him back to reality, and to the situation at hand. His housemates could wake up any time, and having them find Draco Malfoy in their tower, their room, his bed, was probably not the best way to begin a school year. The next time Draco's hand appeared from under the cloak, Harry grabbed it firmly and tugged the boy up. Draco 'eep'ed softly, tumbling out from under the hangings right behind Harry. Eventually, his feet caught up with him, and he followed the raven-haired boy under his own power, though he didn't let go of the hand.

Harry led him down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, the fires already burning and tended by the ever-present but rarely-seen house elves. There was no one up yet, for which Harry was thankful. After all, he was leading Draco Malfoy's disembodied head and lower arm through Gryffindor Tower at 5:30 in the morning. He didn't feel much like explaining himself. He paused just before the portrait hole, and turned to Draco.

"This is funny and all, but I think the Fat Lady might wonder what's up if your head follows me out of the Tower." With that, he reached around behind Draco's head to take hold of the cloak's hood. The tickling touch of Harry's arm brushing against his jaw, neck and ear sent a little shiver through the blond. Harry looked at him curiously.

"Are you okay?" He asked, concerned. He hadn't thought that whatever caused Draco to climb into his bed might have had some sort of effect on his health. In truth, it hadn't. Something else was affecting him, and it was far from a disease. Almost unconsciously, Draco extended his arms outside the cloak and wrapped them around his waist, tucking himself up against Harry.

Harry froze for a moment, unsettled slightly by the feeling of a half-invisible Draco hugging him tightly. He was warm, and felt oddly hard and soft at the same time- muscular but slender and pliable. His arms, already loosely draped around the blond's neck, found themselves traveling slightly downward to embrace the boy's shoulders and pull him even tighter. He buried his nose in Draco's hair, and felt the boy sigh softly against his neck.

They stood silently in the still morning, the logs in the fireplace crackling and the flames making the shadows on the walls and their bodies flicker and dance. It seemed like slow motion as Draco lifted his head off Harry's shoulder, pulling away and meeting the slightly taller boy's eyes.

Harry couldn't quite make out who moved first- perhaps they moved together- but at the moment their lips met, it ceased to matter. They had morning breath, too, but that didn't matter either. All that mattered was the feeling of that kiss. Draco's lips were as strangely disconcerting as the rest of his body had seemed- soft but strong and demanding. It was chaste, sweet. A meeting, tasting, testing. But when they broke apart, it took only a moment for each to sort, process, and return for another; this one as heated as the other had been tentative.

Harry almost moaned as Draco sucked lightly on his lower lip, teeth nibbling at it lightly then releasing it. His tongue swiped across Harry's upper lip, requesting entrance that was readily given. Harry had, before, been a bit perplexed as to why a person would want someone else's tongue in their mouth. Suddenly, the mystery was cleared up. Draco darted his tongue in teasingly, stroking it along Harry's and then retreating; a gesture that with eyes or hands would be easily translated 'come hither'. Luckily, the knowledge of how to speak in the language of kisses came quickly to Harry, who gently returned the gesture, exploring every inch of the blond's mouth with his own. Morning breath non-withstanding, he loved the way the blond tasted- it reminded him of fresh rain, springtime. It was milder than he would have expected, had he ever before taken time to think about how Draco might taste, but he decided quickly that it wasn't something he'd be happy to give up anytime soon.

For Draco's part, he couldn't for the life of him explain what had possessed him to do what he did. But whatever it was, he was strongly inclined to thank it. Harry wasn't the best kisser he had ever encountered, but he was far from the worst, and he seemed to be a quick study. A very quick study. Draco could feel himself melting into the kiss, and more than that, he could feel that this wasn't some strange thing resulting from being in too close of quarters all summer. It was something real.

A little too real, all of a sudden. When they broke apart for air, he clutched Harry tightly again, preventing any more kissing from taking place. Not that he didn't want it to. The problem was, he wanted it a little too much for his own comfort, and forced himself to be satisfied with the warm embrace and the feeling of Harry breathing into his hair, ruffling it slightly as he buried his nose in the blond strands. For a moment, there was silence. Then:

"I got your letter." Harry whispered it into Draco's scalp, but the lilt of humor in his voice brought an even brighter smile to the blond's lips.

"I meant what I said about the chinos." He replied, with mock seriousness, taking the opportunity to nibble a little at Harry's earlobe. He groaned and pulled Draco tighter against him. Draco smirked, making a mental note to remember that reaction. Still, this wasn't the time or place for such... activities, no matter how fun they might be.

"Thank you."

If Harry was surprised by the sudden topic and mood change, he did an admirable job of hiding it. "For what?" he asked, placing a soft kiss on the top of Draco's head. If he wasn't careful, he mentally scolded himself, the blond's hair could become a serious fetish.

"For taking care of me." He barely said anything at all, the words were so soft. Harry felt himself melting as he hugged the blond tighter, making unintentional strangulation a real possibility. Draco didn't care- he hugged right back. Finally, though, he dropped his arms from about Harry's waist, giving Harry the silent signal that it was okay to let him go. Harry did so, though a bit reluctantly.

"See you at breakfast?" Harry asked, trying to fill the silence that, all of a sudden, felt immense. Draco nodded his assent. Harry smiled, planting a swift, soft kiss on the blond's lips, and pulled the hood of the cloak over his head. "Come on, before everyone wakes up." He held out a hand, and Draco's invisible palm met his, swallowing his hand within the cloak. Well, it was better than having Draco's arm seemingly floating behind him. They walked through the portrait hole together, and as the Fat Lady greeted Harry a bit sleepily, Draco's hand slipped away. Harry heard his footfalls for a moment, and then even those disappeared.

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"Harry, dear!" A yawn. "Aren't we up early this morning! You know breakfast isn't for another few hours." The Fat Lady, though the hour was early, was her usual cheerful self.

"I know it's early. I'm sorry for getting you up. I just had a question for you." Of course, he wasn't sure how to phrase it. How do you ask a painting if she saw your... what, boyfriend? God, that was a scary thought! Boyfriend... 'I have a boyfriend?' Harry's subconscious had briefly taken over his conscious, and he wasn't sure how to deal with it. Meanwhile, the Fat Lady was preening.

"For me?" She fanned herself, doing her best to look coquettish and failing rather miserably, though no one would have had the heart to tell her so. "Well, I don't get many questions! I do hope I'll be able to answer!" Harry gave her a smile.

"I was wondering if anything... unusual... happened out here last night." The Fat Lady looked at him oddly.

"Unusual? Whatever do you mean? I do hope its not some sort of prank. Don't you think it's a bit early in the year for that? I don't begrudge you students your fun, but really-" Harry waved a hand to cut her off.

"No, no, nothing like a prank. I just..." He trailed off, wondering how he could ask without arousing suspicion himself. "Well, woke up last night and thought I heard something odd. I don't remember what time it was, but I figured that if anyone would know, it would be you." He emphasized the 'you', and the Fat Lady preened again. It may have been a bit of a low tactic, but it certainly was effective.

"Well, I assure you, young man, nothing at all happened last night. You lot came in after the feast, and no one left all night. I daresay its the last full night of rest I'll be having for a while, though. You will try not to go sneaking about at all hours this year, won't you?" Harry just smiled and nodded.

"I'll try. Bergamot."

The Fat Lady swung away from the portrait hole, even as she said, "Well, that's all one can ask, isn't it?" Then Harry disappeared back into the Tower, and she swung back to her place. "What a nice boy..." She commented, mostly to herself, but the old wizard in an adjacent picture nodded his agreement anyway.


	22. Proficiency Part 1

A/N- A note for Americans and other aliens (to borrow a phrase from Pterry):

When I write football, much like the rest of the world, I mean "soccer". And yes, I am American. I just think the British are far more sensible about things; like fun swear words and the ability to play cricket. Also, they have a queen, and it's far more fun to hear about the exploits of the royal family than it is to hear about our esteemed Dubya choking on a pretzel. (I mean, come on people? Did we really elect a guy who almost choked to death on a pretzel? Please tell me I'm dreaming... Auntie Em, Auntie Em, there's no place like home! #runs away screaming#)

Okay, here ends my political rant. I had to do at least one! Ahem. Sorry.

Anyway... Just remember that FOOTBALL SOCCER and we're off!

#I can't believe I wrote this whole note about one word... that appears in a section that has no real bearing on this fic whatsoever, except to add color... I think I'm insane... No, wait, this chapter is insane. Do you SEE how long this thing is? AAAAGH!# XP

Also, sorry about the long interval between updates. My economics project went and reared its ugly head, followed by a french project and a theology project. #shakes fist at school# Only a few more weeks until I'm FREE! And then I get to go one vacation!

Only, get this-- I will have been in the UK... 2 days BEFORE HBP comes out! Is that just cruelty or what? And then, I'm going to be in France, so I might not get to read it for as long as a WEEK after it comes out! I've read EVERY book (from 2 on, anyway) IMMEDIATELY after it was released! I'm not even going to be able to enjoy Paris, I just know it... sniffle

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Chapter XXII-- Proficiency (Part I)

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Harry was up and showering far too early, having found that he couldn't get back to sleep. Too many things were running through his head, foremost among them- How had Draco gotten into Gryffindor Tower without the Fat Lady noticing? He believed that Draco didn't know. If Draco had found a way into Gryffindor Tower, he'd have used it long before. And probably not to come crawl into bed with Harry. That was another thing- How had he not woken up? Draco had managed to climb in and, apparently, get quite comfy, all without him waking. It was so odd. That and the dream he had had. All the dreams he had had, apparently.

He shook his head under the hot spray of the water, hoping that the pounding of the streams on his skull might knock some idea into his mind. How could he not have remembered such odd dreams before now? He had long been cursed with the ability to recall most of his dreams; a curse especially in the previous year, when his connection to Voldemort had grown stronger than it had ever been. There was another question, that had been lurking just out of sight since Draco's arrival. He had not seen a single vision of Voldemort in over a month. Not, in fact, since the blond's arrival. Why hadn't he noticed?

With a long and very eloquent sigh, Harry banged his head against the tile of the shower. It was useless. He wasn't coming up with any answers, just more questions. Most of which centered on Draco. He knew, without a doubt, that if he told Ron, Ron would immediately seek out and attempt to kill Draco. Not a Good Plan, and Harry needed a Good Plan right about then. Maybe Hermione, but he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to inform Hermione that Draco Malfoy had shown up in his bed, and he hadn't screamed, yelled, or hexed him. In fact, he had been rather close to tugging him back down and going back to sleep, though rationally he knew that if Draco were caught in the Tower, both of them would be in a lot of trouble. Harry stuck his head under the spray and quietly wished for a simple solution to all his problems, preferably neatly packaged and with a bow. A red bow. Harry was quite partial to red.

This was Seamus's cue to stumble noisily into the boys' bathroom, groggy and semi-incoherent. Harry really and truly hoped that this was not the answer he had been seeking. If it was, he wasn't entirely sure what the question was anymore.

"Oi, Harry? Is 'at you? Whatchoo up so early for? 'S not even six-thirty yet!" Six-thirty, of course, was the time at which Dean's exceedingly annoying battery-powered football alarm clock (well, after five solid years of it, anything was annoying) woke everyone up each morning. Everyone aside from Dean and Ron, anyway. It was generally Seamus's job to smack Dean's alarm clock into silence, then wake Dean up. Harry, in turn, woke Ron. Sometimes. When he felt like it.

"Yeah. I must be really excited to get to breakfast or something." Harry drawled rather impressively, with that air of someone who can't believe they're up when they are, but has just been questioned about it and has to deliver an excuse. Seamus grunted, and Harry took that as an acceptance of what he'd said. He let the water run over him for another minute, then turned it off, grabbed his towel and went to get dressed. He had some serious thinking to do, and the sooner he got started the better.

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While Harry knew that he hadn't beaten the house elves in terms of 'being awake far too early for one's health', as evidenced by the pumpkin juice and ham-and-cheese croissant which appeared on the table just after he sat down, he had managed to beat the entire student body, and the professors. He took a few bites of the breakfast and looked up at the ceiling of the Great Hall. Despite a few fluffy clouds, the sun was already shining brightly. It was going to be another nice day, warm but not hot, just like the previous day had been. Soon, though, those fluffy clouds would get darker and thicker, and winter would move in. Harry suddenly found that rather depressing, and decided to make a point of getting out of the castle at some point that day, maybe going down to the pitch to practice for a while on his Firebolt. It was just too nice a day to pass up. Of course, there was that pesky problem of going to class, but really, who could blame him for wanting to skip when the weather was that good?

'Draco, that's who.' His brain readily supplied. Not that the blond would be alone. He could imagine the two-pronged attack he would face if Draco and Hermione teamed up, armed with his academic record. He shuddered, and he felt certain that the pumpkin juice was shuddering as well. Smart pumpkin juice. They had Potions class later on that day, and with all the effort Draco had put in to making sure he took the class, he would certainly not take it well if Harry were to not show up. He sighed, seeking sympathy from the obviously more-intelligent-than-usual pumpkin juice. Such a beautiful day, ruined by the looming presence of Snape lurking in his afternoon. So depressing were these thoughts, and so good a mind reader was the pumpkin juice, that Harry barely noticed when the Great Hall began filling with students.

A few of the new First Years, looking exceedingly nervous about their first day of classes, were sneaking glances in his direction. He could predict the conversation:

"Is that really...?" Hushed whispers, a few giggles.

"Does he really have the scar?"

"Who cares about that? Do you think it's really... you know, really true? What he said about You-Know-Who?" The whispers quieting as they ponder this, then beginning to rise in volume as the conversation invariably turns away from him to other subjects.

So utterly predictable. And for some reason, Harry found himself hating those First Years. As soon as he realized it, he stopped.

'What's that about?' He asked himself, somewhat stunned at the turns his mind had been taking of late. It had always irked him, though, that people seemed to notice the scar before they noticed him. They saw The Boy-Who-Lived, and seemed to completely miss Harry Potter in the process.

Taking the last remaining swig of his pumpkin-y confidante before the goblet refilled itself, Harry found himself looking over at the Slytherin table. It was habit, a morning ritual that had been established years ago. Rule #1: Know Where Thy Enemy Is. This morning, however, his 'enemy' was still absent. Harry was a bit surprised by that. Surely Draco would have been able to get ready by... well, now, anyway.

Eventually, the rest of the Gryffindors made their way down, arraying themselves as usual in lines down the benches of the table and tucking in to the now much larger breakfast presented to them. Draco had still not arrived. Nor had many of the older Slytherins, which seemed to have the First Years looking more nervous than ever. It was clear that they knew what standing Slytherin House had at Hogwarts, and that despite their natural tendency toward pride, they weren't sure if they really wanted to be there.

When the older Slytherins did arrive it was en masse, and quite an impressive entrance, really. Harry almost grinned at the look of pure superiority Draco was wearing as he led his 'underlings' into the Hall. The blond, who had been acting rather strangely since his appearance on Harry's doorstep, seemed to be getting back into his normal routine as the Prince of Slytherin, and was making sure everyone knew it. Apparently, the First Years hadn't gotten the memo, and looked rather embarassed. Sparing a quick glance at the Head Table, Harry noted Snape's approving look and Dumbledore's slightly raised eyebrow (along with the usual enigmatic smile, which could mean anything from approval to 'I do believe the meat has gone bad', and therefore told Harry nothing at all).

In his own way, Harry was also pleased. With Draco running the show, the depleted Slytherin House would probably be just fine. Much as he would have been loathe to admit it before, he now found himself taking just a little bit of pride in Draco's inborn talent as a leader. When Draco glanced over at him and quirked his lips up just slightly at the corners, a smile meant for him and him alone, he could do no less than smile back. It was ironic, Harry suddenly realized, that the arrival of the Slytherins had just brightened his day. And hopefully, it was also a sign of good things to come.

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The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher hadn't made an appearance at breakfast, sparking rumors throughout the student body that there would be no DADA class that day, or possibly for the whole year. Of course, as with most rumors, these were false. If the teacher hadn't arrived, Harry knew that one of the others would have stepped in. Even Professor Trelawney could probably handle the first class of the year- run through the syllabus, make sure everyone has the required materials, assign some reading or something. Standard "first day of class" fare. Alas, it was not to be. Trelawney remained in her tower, and the new DADA professor was seated at the head desk when the class began to filter through the door, a few minutes early to avoid being late the first day.

Harry's jaw just about broke as it hit the floor. As quickly as he could, he buried the reaction, but it was long enough that Hermione noticed, at least. Another thing to add to the list of 'strange Harry behavior', the building of which was becoming something of a passtime. Harry didn't notice Hermione noticing. He was much too busy evaluating what he was seeing in terms of reality as he knew it. At least he now had the answer to "Before what?". The answer was apparently, "Before I start teaching your class".

Sitting at the desk was none other than the woman he recalled from his dream the previous night; who, he reasoned based on that conversation, was apparently all of the women who'd been appearing in his dreams for the past months. She was now quite real, and was scribbling something down on a sheet of parchment as the students took their seats nervously.

Harry, being himself when it came to DADA, sat in the front, the left side of the room from the door. Hermione took the seat next to him, and on the other side of her, nearest the wall, Ron took his place. Harry kept a grin to himself as Draco, with perfect nonchalance and a smirk that begged anyone to argue with him, took the seat directly across the aisle from Harry. Following the same pattern, almost as if it had been pre-ordained, Pansy and Blaise took their seats, filling up the middle section of the room. On the far side, Harry saw Ernie MacMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley grab seats, joined a moment later by Terry Boot. He glanced around the room, noting the faces that appeared. It seemed as though most of the year had opted to continue DADA lessons, and for that Harry was grateful.

He was less grateful, however, for the fact that the new professor apparently had a habit of stepping into his head every once in a while. Still, so far she had been non-threatening in his dream worlds, if a bit evasive and enigmatic. And, considering the previous year, Harry was glad that they had a teacher who seemed sane. At the very least, he could avoid making snap judgments. A snap judgment, after all, was what had gotten Sirius...- Harry swallowed hard as he thought the word- killed, and he vowed not to make the same mistake twice. For all he knew, this professor bore only an uncanny resemblance to the character his mind had created. Still, something deep and primordial in the pit of his stomach told Harry this was not the case.

At precisely nine o'clock the new professor stopped writing, set her quill down, and stood to address the class. She was... well, sort of short, really, Harry noted. Not nearly as short as Professor Flitwick, but that would be hard to match. However, there was something about her, the way she carried herself, that made her seem taller, and despite her lack of height, there were no snide remarks or snickers. She had the attention of the whole class from the time she set down her quill, so there was no quieting that needed to be done as she began the class.

"Welcome to your Sixth Year. I am correct that this is your first class of the year, yes?" The class nodded affirmatively, a few voices chimed in with a "Yes, professor", Hermione's one of them. Harry smiled at Ron's defeated sigh. The room was soon silent and attentive again.

"Well then, let's begin properly. I am called Prudence Kedemon, and I will be teaching this class until at least the end of the year. After that, who knows? I have heard a rumor that there is a 'curse' on my particular position," a few quiet laughs at this, "But I assure you that such a thing will not deter me. I have been made aware that most of the students who learned anything in this field last year were self-taught." Her eyes scanned the room, lighting on Harry for a moment with an indistinguishable emotion, then scanning again. "So, we will begin this year with a series of proficiency tests."

The class collectively groaned at this announcement. Their nice, relaxed first day back was quickly becoming not-so-relaxing. The new professor, 'Kedemon.' Harry reminded himself, glad he at least had a name to attach to this figure, smiled reassuringly at the class and jumped up slightly to perch on her desk, her feet swinging several inches off the ground. The class took a collective blink, their attention successfully rerouted back to her.

"Yes, yes, I know you hate tests. As it is, I hate tests as well. Grading them is a nuisance. However, the school does require me to evaluate your acquisition of knowledge somehow, and tests are the most efficient method. I could simply drop you off in Romania or some such place and see how you fare, but I doubt many of your parents would be pleased with me. As it is, we will have as few tests as I can get away with. Now then. These proficiency tests will not be graded, so you can stop sweating, Ms. Granger." Hermione blinked and Ron (along with about half the class) barely managed to swallow his laughter. Harry grinned, and across the aisle Draco smirked.

"I simply want to ascertain where I should be beginning this class. Yes, there will be a written portion, unfortunately, though the practical portion is rather more important in my opinion. However, I doubt the school would appreciate me bringing in a wolf and a werewolf just to see if you can tell the difference, or anything of that sort. At least not on the first day. So, written it is. You may have the rest of this hour to look over any materials you wish to.

"I expect you to be reasonably proficient in Defense Against the Dark Arts materials that were presented to you in your Fourth Year and before, and I will be including important material from your Fifth Year book. Once I have a grasp on the average level of this class, we can proceed. If you wish, you may inform the students in the other class as well. I give you my permission, knowing of course that it will make no difference. The written portion of the proficiency tests begins in one hour." With that, the rather diminutive professor hopped down from her desk and went back to scribbling, apparently oblivious to her students. For a stunned moment, the class was silent, then the conversations began.

"Other class? What other class?" Ron's first question earned him a look of disdain from Hermione, the ever-informed.

"Every student in the year signed up for this class. Do you honestly think we would have fit in just one classroom? They divided us into two sections. This class is section A, the other is section B. That's why we have two double classes a week instead of four single classes. We have class Mondays and Fridays, the other section has Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"What's on Wednesday?" Ron asked, apparently hearing this for the first time. Harry really couldn't stop himself.

"I thought What was on third. Or was that second?" He pondered, and Hermione shot him a reproachful glare.

"Very funny Harry. Really!" The second was directed at Ron, "Don't you ever look at the message board? There is one, you know. You only pass it on the way to the Great Hall every morning! The professors keep office hours, Wednesdays during this time are Professor Kedemon's." With that, Hermione flipped open her perfectly organized and labeled notes, apparently from the last five years, and began skimming. Harry shrugged at Ron, who was looking rather confused, and began reading over Hermione's shoulder.

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Not five feet away, Draco was pondering. He had been hit with an odd sense of deja-vu the moment he stepped into the room and saw the new professor. On a purely visceral level, he thought he knew her somehow. Had seen her before, met her before. Possibly even been acquainted with her at some point. The problem was, he couldn't for the life of him imagine where or how. He resolved to think about it later, elsewhere. The mere presence of the woman was disconcerting to him, though he couldn't quite get a fix on why. The worst part was the way she kept... well, changing on him.

He vaguely wondered it she was a metamorphmagus, on a similar line with his own cousin, one Nymphadora Tonks, but pushed the idea away. He had seen 'Tonks', as she preferred to be called (Draco personally couldn't see what was wrong with her name, but had been most thoroughly assured by Ginny and Hermione, while at Grimmauld, that it was positively dreadful, and he should respect her wishes anyway. It had been far easier to give in than to argue), and though she had her morphs down to a level of ease that required minimal effort, it still required some. This... person, woman, professor, whatever she was that was sitting behind the desk scribbling away, had not been changing, not like that. Rather, she seemed to almost... flicker. Like she was made up of thin layers, layers that were shifted around as if by a breeze, revealing what was underneath for a scant few seconds before covering it up again. It was rather distracting. She was at once old and young, tall and short, overweight and skeleton-thin.

After a few minutes, Draco's eyes began to hurt. Resolutely, he turned to his notes (only slightly less organized than Hermione's- he didn't have a color-coded system to distinguish practical from theoretical information), and decided to think about it later. He was well aware of the information the members of the DA had covered the previous year, having been brought up to speed over the weeks at Grimmauld Place. What few of the spells he didn't know (which was VERY few, he remembered with a self-satisfied smirk), he'd learned. In many other areas he knew he was ahead of most of the class, and had been for some time. He would have no problem "passing" this proficiency examination. He doubted any of his House would. Despite their instruction (or rather, lack thereof) the previous year, the Slytherins' own drives to surpass those around them had had them doing their own independent studies of the Fifth Year material. They would be fine, and certainly wouldn't let the House down. Wouldn't let him down.

He shot a glance down his short row, where Pansy was absentmindedly chewing on a lock of her hair as she read through some of her notes; concentrating, he saw, on her weaker areas. Blaise, on the other aisle, was sorting out several sheaves of battered parchment that he had termed his "notes" some time ago. Draco couldn't see what was particularly note-like about them, being mostly nasty caricatures of students and professors, self-played games of tic-tac-toe, and other nonsense. Every once in a while, a word was scrawled and hastily defined, or a spell was noted down. Draco rolled his eyes back down to his work. How Blaise managed to pass any of his classes was a mystery that would probably never be solved. Still, he managed, and with remarkably good grades for someone who never seemed to do any actual work.

Draco's face went rather serious as he skimmed over his notes, not really taking in any of the information. It had become apparent, the night before and earlier in the morning, that he had become the de-facto ruler of Slytherin House. With the Seventh Year gone, seniority fell to the remaining Sixth Years, and in the Sixth Year, Draco was king. Very suddenly, the weight of the world really did seem to rest on his shoulders. The First Years, who usually entered Slytherin House just as cocky and arrogant as he had, seemed subdued, even scared. Draco understood, of course. To be Sorted into Slytherin while rumors of the Dark Lord's rise and return were looming in the air was "bad". It fell to him to keep the House in line, to make sure they did nothing that would bring suspicion upon them, to ward off that stigma. To ensure, in other words, that there would be a place for them to come back to for the next school year. And the next, and the next one after that. With the political tide as anti-Slytherin as it was normally, the proverbial straw could be quicker in coming than any of them could imagine.

Draco knew all this, and for a moment, he really, really wished that it could be handed off to someone else. But someone else probably wouldn't know what to do if a clue hit them over the head with a mallet, and so the job fell to him. He understood what the damn hat had meant, the year before, even if no one else did. If there was any "uniting" to be done, it was to be done between Slytherin and the rest of the school. He had just had no idea how to go about it, and had probably wound up making things even worse for himself and his House. Suddenly angry at himself, Draco began to really look over his notes, willing himself to be buried in the words contained there and resolving to worry about the rest of the world some other time.

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Some two hours later, the class let out, and let out a collective sigh of relief. In Hermione's words, "That wasn't really very hard at all!" And this time, most of the students actually agreed with her. The questions had been fairly straightforward, and it was apparent that the purpose really was to guage how much they had already been taught. Even Neville seemed pleased with how he felt he had done, something almost unheard of. Overall, the opinion of their new professor seemed favorable, though she hadn't done any real teaching yet; something about her personality and mannerisms seemed to click well with the class. The year was starting off... better than expected.

Harry was musing, about both the class and the professor -literally- from his dreams, allowing himself to be carried along with the tide of students heading toward the call of lunch, when he felt someone knock into him. A quick look confirmed the 'someone' as Draco, who winked at Harry before disappearing into the throng. Well, not really. Harry could still pinpoint Draco's hair with perfect accuracy, but the rest of him was lost. A bit puzzled, Harry took his seat at the Gryffindor table, immediately spooning a portion of the tuna salad onto his plate. The only other choice for the meal appeared to be chicken marsala, and much as the House Elves seemed to be trying, they never could get it quite right. The tuna would go quickly, and it was best to get some while there was some to get. For a moment, Harry wondered what happened to all the uneaten chicken marsala every time they had it, then decided that he really didn't want to know.

Hermione was still going on about the proficiency test- wondering what the practical section might entail- and every once in a while enthusing about the addition of another female professor. Harry took the opportunity to tune her out and steal a glance toward the Slytherin table, where Draco was again holding court. At this point, he had moved his cadre of loyal followers to about the center of the table, and the other years seemed to radiate out toward the ends. It was tactical, Harry realized. In the center, Draco had more control over what went on, more awareness of each member of his House. He was, in essence, being a Slytherin, and taking advantage of every opportunity that presented itself. The other Slytherins must have realized it- how could they not?- but none seemed anxious to do anything about it. Draco in control was just that- in control. And it suited him. Very suddenly, Draco's eyes shifted to meet his, seeming altogether unsurprised to catch Harry staring. Almost in slow motion, at least to Harry, Draco's tongue darted out to moisten his top lip, and Harry found himself blushing for no discernable reason.

He quickly looked away, busying himself with his bookbag. Originally, once he stopped blushing anyway, he planned to skim over the first chapter of his new potions book, in the hope that he might actually be able to answer one of the nearly-impossible questions Snape was likely to throw at him. That idea quickly left him when he noticed the folded piece of silvery material nestled in amongst his books. It was his invisibility cloak, that had been loaned to Draco that morning. There was a note pinned to it, not quite on top but close enough that Harry found it without taking the cloak out of his bag. He unpinned it and unfolded it. It said, in the same green ink and familiar handwriting as the note he had found in his trunk:

_"Thank you._

_DM_

_PS- Do you miss me yet?"_

Harry grinned, then looked over at Draco, knowing that the blond would catch his eye again. When he did, Harry held the note in such a fashion that Draco could tell exactly what it was. Draco delicately arched an eyebrow, managing to keep semi-eye-contact with Harry despite carrying on a conversation with his fellow Slytherins. Harry read the question in the gesture immediately. He nodded slightly, mouthing a quick 'yes' as he did so. Draco smirked, replying with a slight nod of his own, and Harry could practically hear his happily self-centered response: "Good." And Harry was pleased to know, in some way that he couldn't quite fathom yet, that this particular smirk of Draco's was really a smile in disguise.

Ron watched in half amazement, half horror as Harry left the Hall to go to his Advanced Potions class, smiling.

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Advanced Potions hadn't gone half so badly as Harry had been expecting it to. Snape had been, as usual, an oily git, but Harry found himself rather used to it by this point. It was obvious that he was still annoyed that the DADA job had been handed to another. Again. Still, with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs that had been mixed into the integrated class, Snape had more people to pick on, and had actually almost ignored Harry's presence for most of the period.

At first, when he had walked into the Potions dungeon, Snape had scowled mightily at him, very pointedly checking his class list. As if Harry would show up there if he wasn't in the class. Che. Harry had summoned up the cheeriest grin he could to launch at the disagreeable Head of Slytherin House, which seemed to only annoy him more. Harry was suddenly almost glad that he had worked as hard as he did for his Potions O.W.L. score (which had been honorarily bestowed upon him by Dumbledore, after Hermione informed the Headmaster of the events of the exam on Harry's behalf- he had been willing to forget about it. Snape had probably been livid), if only so he could spend the year irking Snape with his mere presence. And, to top it all off, Snape had (probably in an effort to make the class as torturous as possible for Harry, or at least as torturous as he thought possible) assigned him to partner with one Draco Malfoy for the entire year.

Hermione grinned for him (behind her hand, where Snape couldn't see) as he put on his most annoyed glare and marched over to his new assigned seat- the right side of the room, on the wall aisle. Draco glared hatefully back at him, doing a marvelous job of keeping the corner of his mouth in line, though it did its best to twitch in amusement.

"Potter." He spat venemously, consciously willing away the laugh that was threatening to rise in his throat.

"Malfoy." Harry spat back, almost smiling but turning it into a grimace at the last second. He took his seat, and Snape turned away to inflict a partner on another victim. As soon as the Potions professor's back was turned, Harry and Draco both grinned, following Hermione's "hide behind a hand" example. It wouldn't do for Snape to suddenly turn and see, and anyway, there was the rest of the class to consider. The rest of the class that had been sending Harry (or Draco, depending on House) sympathetic looks, as if trying to lessen the blow.

The rest of the period had been... interesting, to say the least. They spent most of it covering potions-making theory; how different ingredients combined and why they reacted the way they did. To his surprise, Harry found himself almost... enjoying the lecture. Potions had always been something he wasn't very good at, but remembering some of his most spectacular failures and comparing what he had done with the theory Snape was (finally!) covering, he was beginning to see his mistakes. He could be good at this with a little work, he realized, and also realized that becoming good at his subject was the best way he had ever thought of to annoy Snape.

Harry had spent the period taking notes, with Draco doing the same at his elbow (though in a much better organized notebook). The whole thing felt strangely comfortable and familar. Every once in a while a piece of Draco's ice-blond hair would float down into his eyes and he would alternatively try to blow it away (which resulted in some very cute expressions and the hair returning to its position over Draco's eye not five seconds later) or tuck it back behind his ear with long, elegant fingers. Harry had to resist the strong desire to tuck the strands back himself, which was easier under the threat of Snape than it might have been in other circumstances. Halfway through the class, Draco's inkwell had run dry. Unnoticed by any in the class, Harry's inkwell mysteriously slid about four inches closer to Draco's side of their shared table, and the color of Draco's notes changed halfway through, from emerald green to deep blue-black.

They left the room with their own circles, growling at each other perfunctorily when their shoulders brushed as they exited, hiding the identical happy shivers that had run down their spines when their hands brushed, and not looking back as they were pulled away in opposite directions by the throng of their fellow classmates.

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History of Magic went as it usually did. The room full of students was also filled with soft snores and an occasional thud when someone's head dropped onto their desk. Professor Binns, as usual, kept right on talking, never noticing that he was really only speaking to an audience of two. Hermione was, as usual, taking notes, and Draco was as well. He had apparently managed to refill or grab another inkwell between classes, as his ink was back to its usual emerald green. Harry tried to take notes, he really did, but he had dropped off by the time Binns covered the fourteenth attempt to imprison a wizard known to history as Barney the Flexible (whose original crime wasn't really a crime at all, but that he had annoyed the Minister of Magic of the time by besting him at "limbo" during a Ministry holiday party).

Hermione, who had already studied this particular section of the text over the summer holiday, spent her time (between taking neat notes of the most important points in Binns' lecture) observing Draco Malfoy. It was actually quite an entertainment. He sat, based on their assigned seating, just ahead and to the left of her- perfect for observation, really, because she was seated on the right side of the room and could appear to be observing Professor Binns the whole time. It was entertaining, though, because Draco was doing some observing of his own, in a fairly regular pattern. Hermione watched, somewhat fascinated.

Step one- Draco would be taking notes, and his hair would flop into his eyes. Step two- he would attempt to blow it back out of his eyes. Step three- the hair would return in short order, and he would tuck it back behind his ear. Step four- a slight turn of the head to look at Harry, which caused the hair to flop right back. Step five- repeat hair tuck, return to notes. Step six- repeat.

Hermione observed the ritual with a smile on her face. The glances he was giving Harry every two minutes or so were extraordinarily... well, cute, really. She wondered whether he had done the same when Harry was awake, rather than passed out with half his face smushed into the pages of the History of Magic text. With that bit of wondering came the thought of how Harry would react if he noticed. Flop, blow, flop, tuck, look, flop. The pattern repeated yet again, and Hermione smiled just a little bit wider as she turned her attention back to her notes for a moment.

There was obviously something there. She and Ginny (or rather, Ginny, really. She had noticed once Ginny suggested it, though, and that counted for something!), they had noticed that there was something between the two boys before they had noticed it themselves. It was absolutely wonderful that they had become friends, in Hermione's opinion, though she knew Ron strenuously objected.

She was firmly of the opinion that Harry needed more friends, more people he could rely on. Especially if... well, she couldn't quite bet on it yet, but she was becoming more and more certain that Ron was someday going to get up the courage to ask her out, and when that happened, she feared a bit for Harry. There really wasn't anything more disheartening than feeling like a third wheel- especially if it was all the time- and she could see Harry taking it that way. Flop, blow. Flop, tuck. Glance, flop, tuck.

The Trio's dynamic had already begun to change. She could feel it, even if the boys couldn't. Harry needed to go his own way, and had already begun doing so. Ron, well... Ron was still very much the person he had always been, and expected Harry to be the way that he had always been as well. She, too, felt much the same as she always had, but maintained her own views on what Harry ought to or ought not to be.

It was Harry, really, that was changing, and Hermione saw it. He was growing up, much faster than they were, which was somewhat to be expected. Still, Hermione worried about him. Having someone else to talk to, someone who didn't have this image of you as the perfect savior, maybe that was what he needed. Hermione felt badly about it, but realized that she, too, tended to place Harry into that neat little box labeled "The Boy-Who-Lived", even though it was becoming ever more apparent that that box couldn't hold even half of what Harry really was. Far too many people tried to label him, though he had somehow outgrown the label without warning anyone first. Glance, flop, tuck.

However, if there was one person she could think of who didn't believe in the image, not for one moment, it would have to be Draco Malfoy. And in that, Hermione took her peace. They would be good for each other, no matter what direction their relationship turned. She just hoped that Malfoy was being sincere. Harry was, she knew, the type that threw themselves in with everything they had, without taking a good long look before the leap. When Harry fell in love, it would be fast, hard, and complete; because of that, Hermione felt a strong urge to be protective. If Harry got his heart broken, she would be there with a hug, a shoulder to cry on, and several curses to ensure that Malfoy would never have children.

Nodding to herself in silent promise, Hermione turned back to her notes.

Tuck. Glance. Flop. Tuck. Draco continued his routine, unaware of the watchful eyes just behind him and to the right.

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End of Chapter A/N: I just had to comment on Blaise's notes. I made him into "that guy", I'm sure you've all seen him. The one whose notes are a mess, who never has their books/homework/writing utensils/etc., but somehow still manages to pass their classes and never seems to do all that poorly. That's who I made Blaise. Because somehow, it sort of suits him, and "that guy" really would have been a Slytherin anyway. -


	23. An Interesting Night's Dream

A/N: Not too bad a wait this time, I hope! I tried to write quickly, but I just had finals, soooo... But now, finals are over, and I can devote a bit more time to this! yay!

Today, I have decided to do some REVIEW RESPONSES to thank you all for your kind support! Here they are!

**Silverone3** -- I still think 'that guy' is a Slytherin. Look at it this way- he's too cool to care about schoolwork, but still manages to do well at everything. That just screams "Slytherin!" at me. But, whatever! And yes, Ron probably will freak out, if only because it will be so much fun to write:P

**Cithara** -- Er... question answered, I guess! Read on!

**ValerieCameo003** -- Thanks for the brownie! I'm afraid to say that you'll have to wait a bit to find out about Blaise, though. I can't give away all my secrets! #though I get tempted to, and have to stop myself#

**shinomiko** -- Thanks for the nice (and long!) review! I'm glad you like the direction of the plot. Like I may have said earlier (or not, I forget...), I started writing this story because I wanted to read one of those Draco-on-Harry's-doorstep fics that went somewhere other than immediately to: "I've just realized I've always been hot for you! Let's go make wild monkey-love!" It was getting kind of annoying. So, I just decided to write it myself. I'm glad people like it! I was really worried at first! Thank you, too, for your kind words about my depiction of Harry (and Draco, too). It's hard to come up with your own interpretation of two characters who have been so widely discussed and 'fan-written', so I'm happy that you like my version! Gah, I keep rambling and saying the same things over and over, so I'll just stop here.

**Siiarrei** -- Thank you, as well, for the nice (long!) review! I'll try not to ramble on this one. I did say they could choose some classes, but (as I discovered while doing some research for this fic) Astronomy is a required class for all 7 years. Taking into account that some classes are (apparently) always required, add in the fact that the required classes are usually the most boring, obnoxious, non-useful classes a school can provide. Voila! HoM is a required class! (Though Hermione would probably take it anyway...)

**juniper** -- Your "update dance" has been answered! #see? these things do work!#

Well, that's all we have time for today, folks! Now, on to the ficcage!

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Chapter XXIII -- An Interrupted Night's Dream

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Harry caught himself yawning as he made his way up to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory after a rather boring Astronomy class, trailing a few steps behind Ron and the others. He felt more tired than usual; but then again, he had gotten up much earlier than usual that morning. Not that he was complaining, really. As far as ways to wake up went, it hadn't been that bad. Certainly a lot better than Dean's sodding football alarm clock, anyway.

Dressing in his pajamas as quickly as he could (it was late, and cold), Harry idly noticed that a pair of pajama pants and one of his older t-shirts were still missing. He smiled a little to himself, his stomach twisting a bit oddly at the image of the blond wearing his clothes. Draco, in those red-plaid pj pants -- that used to be flannel but had most of the fuzziness worn off them -- and the old, graying t-shirt which Harry had managed to shrink down in the wash, with his hair all mussed up like it always was in the mornings before he raced off to the bathroom to fix it... The image was... soft, and warm, and more than a bit adorable; though Harry knew that Draco would find a suitably painful method of death for him if he ever dared to describe him as "adorable" to his face.

Harry fell asleep smiling.

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Draco was having an odd dream.

The first odd thing about it was, naturally, that he realized he was having it. The next, though, was equally obvious- he would not be caught running around the castle at night in his pajamas. Never mind that he had done it just that morning. Or that they weren't his pajamas at all, but the ones he had sto- _borrowed_ from Harry.

He growled a terse "shut up!" at himself and continued his seemingly pointless wandering around the dream-Hogwarts he found himself in. All the portraits seemed to be asleep, he hadn't seen any of the ghosts; for that matter, he hadn't seen Filch or Mrs. Norris, either. And _that_ was suspicious, if nothing else was. Then again, it was a dream. He had to keep reminding himself of that point, it kept slipping away from him. The dream-castle was so identical to the real one, down to the slightly-raised section of floor that he nearly always tripped over. He barely avoided the raised tile, reaching out to catch his balance.

Draco caught himself on the doors of the Great Hall. This came as a bit of a surprise to him, as he was fairly certain that he had been wandering around near library only seconds before.

'Dream,' he reminded himself. 'It's just a dream. You may as well deal with it.' With that, he pushed open one of the doors to the Hall and entered. It was at that point that he first wondered whether this was a dream at all, or if he had simply gone insane without his knowledge.

At the front of the Hall (which suddenly seemed much closer, though he couldn't remember moving at all) Harry was sitting cross-legged on the end of one of the House tables, apparently chatting with that infuriating flickering woman; 'Professor Kedemon,' his brain supplied, for no apparent reason. The woman- who wasn't flickering anymore, much to Draco's dismay- looked up at him and smiled.

"Welcome!" Her slightly raised voice suddenly filled up the Hall, and seemed in the quiet to be tantamount to yelling. Harry twisted around, apparently startled.

"Wha-?" the brunet began intelligently, then seemed to discover his wits buried somewhere about his person. "What are you doing here?" The question seemed to address Draco, but it was directed more at the petite woman perched on the High Table. Intrigued, Draco moved to sit next to Harry, who moved over slightly to give him more space.

The new professor shrugged lightly. "If he's going to help, he should at least be made aware that his services are required." She sighed at the look Harry was giving her. "Alright, alright. You win, but only this once. We simply didn't have the energy necessary to bring both of you together onto this plane, before. At the time, you were the most important piece in this game of ours, and so we chose to approach you first. Now it has become possible to contact you both, together, and so we have. Really, he should have been here from the beginning.

"Now then," she turned to Draco, giving him a quick grin that did little to assuage his sudden bout of nerves, "I would like to welcome you, and explain anything you have questions about. However, that may take some time, so I'll just let Harry explain what he knows a bit later. I have to be moving on to the real reason your presences are required in the first place. At this point, I will simply stick to the basics. We'll fill in the details as it becomes necessary for you to know them."

Draco wasn't certain, but he thought he could sense Harry beginning to seethe. How he could tell Harry was seething, he wasn't entirely certain. There was little change in the other boy's posture; perhaps his shoulders were a little tighter than they had been, but...

"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away-" Kedemon stopped as the two boys gave her sharp looks, alternating between annoyance and intense confusion. She sighed. "And here I thought you might have a sense of humor. Fine, have it your way then.

"A long time ago- I wasn't joking about that part- people lived quite a bit longer than they do now. So much so, in fact, that as the number of people in the world increased, it became a problem, and not just in terms of population, either. There were many factors that wove together to create quite a conundrum for us. One that we had to solve, and quickly. And no, I'm not telling you who 'we' refers to. Just know that it was myself and several other very important... people. Anyway, we came up with a solution.

"We created an object from the extra life-force, the energy, that was allowing people to live so long. As you may imagine, this object became incredibly powerful, as it continues to this day to absorb any extra life energy it finds floating around. After a while, some other... people... found out about it, and tried to use its energy for themselves. They caused us quite a few headaches, as you may imagine. After we cleaned up that incident, we decided that the best thing to do would be to entrust it to someone who would never, ever have the need or desire to use it. That we did. However, it seems that someone has now found out where the object was hidden away, and is trying to claim it for their own use. This simply cannot be allowed. Not since that first incident has this been a problem, and we had hoped the object had finally been forgotten. To have someone take an interest in it now, especially this particular someone, could be disastrous."

"Voldemort." Harry filled in, in a tone that was half resignation, half annoyance. Kedemon nodded silently.

Draco carefully assimilated all this information. Several questions came to mind, only one of which he actually voiced.

"This 'object' of yours, what is it exactly?" His eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on the issue at hand. The professor sighed heavily.

"That's the problem, you see. There just aren't adequate terms in your speech to describe exactly what the object is. Unfortunately, the closest description we've been able to come up with is also the reason that it attracted so much attention originally."

Draco glared. He didn't like it when people dodged his questions. "And that description is...?" He prodded, not-so-gently.

She sighed again.

"The Cloak of Immortality."

There was a pause.

"Oh, fuck." Harry swore quietly, glaring angrily off to one side of the hall.

Needless to say, Draco whole-heartedly agreed.

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**A/N--** This chapter is a bit short, I know. The next will be longer, I promise. However, I do want to explain a bit, just to cut off some of the questions that I'm sure are going to come up about this (not that you can't review anyway, even to tell me thanks for answering your question... #HINT!#). Here we go!

**First**, the Cloak is something I sort of picked up from a movie about Santa Claus that was on TV one time, like, several years ago. My version bears little resemblance to their version, but that's where the name came from. The 'people lived longer' thing I pulled straight from the bible (to use in a slash fic... oh, I'm going to hell, I just know it... at least I get HPDM smut to read on the way down!), but the idea that it caused problems I made up myself. Also the "solution" is mine. Unless it was someone else's first... But I don't think it was... Eh, whatever. Sort it out yourselves! Buncha lazy- #is smacked by muse# -WONDERFUL reviewers! a-hem...

Anyway, the backstory on the cloak is sorta important (maybe), but if it really is, it'll be recapped later. Just get the main points, don't worry about my half-assed storytelling... The whole thing will probably get changed around later anyway, if I see a need for the backstory to be useful.

**Second**- yes, the boys do get more information than just this. But, it was just such a good stopping place, don't you think? I did, so I went for drama over plot development. Don't worry, all the information they learned will be given to you in the next couple of chapters. Probably in chapter 25, actually, looking at how 24 is headed. Have no fear! You'll find it all out eventually.

**_Please Review!_** I just LOVE reading reviews! It makes me want to write more! #hint! BIG hint!#


	24. Purple Spots

**A/N-** Have realized that I made a mistake in "Girl Talk". To keep with more correct canon (because it really has no bearing on this plot whatsoever), where I had Ginny talking about Seamus, it really should have been Dean. I apologize for this minor error. It shall be corrected, though I'm sure no one actually cares. I also forgot that she dated Michael Corner for a while. I feel stupid now. #sigh#

Firstly, you can all thank **fifespice** for being **Reviewer #255** (which was the random number in my head at which I would upload the next chapter, since I finished it much more quickly than I thought I would)!

In other news: I LOVE YOU GUYS! Wow! I got a _lot_ of reviews for the last chapter! I'm so pleased you are all liking this fic, and I am sorry that it was so short. #bows# I _am_ now on summer vacation (I graduate this Sunday! eeeeeeee!), so hopefully there will be more frequent updates. There _will_ be a brief summer hiatus, as I am going to Europe with my family for three weeks or so, so I will try to write as much as possible before I go, and I will get right back on it once I return! However, we don't leave for several weeks yet, so don't start panicking:P

Note: This one's longer! And has more plot-thickening goodness! Plus Flirt!Harry makes an appearance! Yippee! #runs off to write more#

Also Note: this title has almost no relevance to the plot whatsoever. it's just humorous. i've been told that humorous titles make for happy, well-adjusted readers who are more inclined to review... (yes, I'm hinting again)

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Chapter XXIV -- Purple Spots

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Waking up that morning was a rather different experience for Draco. For Harry, it was rather mundane, but Draco had never before experienced the evils of Dean's alarm clock. The shrill, electronic noise woke the blond with a start- he shot up out of his previous positon (which was rather more horizontal, and rather more tangled up in Harry) and looked around wildly. Not that it helped much, as Harry had the hangings pulled. Draco blinked.

Harry. Tangled. Red hangings. Red sheets. Very odd dream. Shit.

Draco barely noticed as Harry sat up beside him and a little behind. He did notice, however, when Harry's arm snaked around his waist and Harry's chin found its rest on his shoulder.

"Morning." The brunet whispered, his breath tickling Draco's ear. The blond slowly let out the breath he had been holding and relaxed back into the half-embrace.

"Morning." He replied softly. "Why do I keep waking up here, exactly?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally. It wasn't really something he considered a 'problem' at this point. They paused there for a moment, their peace in discord with the screaming whine of the alarm clock from outside the hangings for the four-poster. Unfortunately, their pause was ruined when the wail suddenly ceased, and the thought dawned on both of them: Gryffindor Tower was waking up.

The boys looked at each other for a moment, twin expressions of panic evident on their faces. In the early-morning stillness, they could hear every rustle as Seamus woke, swore at Dean's alarm clock, swore at Dean, and then woke the boy from his uninterrupted slumber. Neville, too, appeared to be waking, if the slightly exaggerated yawns from his end of the room were any indication. A light snore emanated from Ron's side, and Harry grinned.

Draco was tempted to grin as well, but his fear of imminent death at the hands of the Gryffindors (or at least a very embarrassing lecture from Professors McGonagall and Snape) kept his mirth well in check. Harry noticed, and squeezed him a little tighter around the ribs until the tension left his shoulders again. Draco gave him a 'look', obviously questioning the sanity of Harry's apparent 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' philosophy. The brunet shrugged, then mouthed the words 'wait a minute' as clearly as he could. Draco resigned himself to doing as he was told. After all, Harry had slept in this dorm a lot longer than he had. Still, if they had a moment...

'That dream.' Draco half-whispered the words, so even Harry had a hard time making them out at first. Once he got it, though, he nodded.

'Yeah.' He added in a nod for good measure. 'I've had ones like it before. A couple times, maybe more...' Harry paused and thought a moment. 'We have free period tomorrow. We can talk then. If that's okay?'

Draco thought a moment, then his eyebrows knit together in confusion. 'We have free period tonight.'

Harry grinned. 'Quidditch.'

Draco's eyebrow and the corner of his mouth both twitched upward.

'Ah.'

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A/N: you HAVE to know that look! you HAVE to! Okay, over it. On with the fic!

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Harry's "minute" took slightly longer than a minute, but that was fine. In the end, the other Sixth Year Gryffindor boys stumbled their way out of the room to go wash up, leaving he and Draco alone with Ron (who was still snoring, so probably not a problem). He waited a moment after the door clicked shut, then released his hold on Draco and opened the hangings. Draco scrambled back, out of the view of anyone who might have still been in the room. Harry chuckled at him.

"They won't be back for fifteen minutes at least, trust me. Come on." He gestured for Draco to get out of the bed while he dug out his invisibility cloak again.

Warily, Draco surveyed the room, his toes curling into the plush red carpeting. He hadn't had much of a chance to look around the previous morning- he had been more concerned with why he was there in the first place, and how he intended to get out. There was a small fireplace, the five, big four-poster beds and five matching desks. And, though it was only their second day of term, there were already books, articles of clothing, and other odds-and-ends tossed about the room. The overall feeling, Draco decided, was much more like that of a room shared by five brothers, not five unrelated classmates. They were _family_ here.

It stood in stark contrast to the Sixth Year Slytherins' room; which seemed rather lonely in comparison. The absence of two of the usual five 'bed-and-desk' sets (Crabbe's and Goyle's) made the dormitory seem echoingly empty. Adding in the fact that each of the Slytherins was meticulous about their personal items remaining in their personal space, it felt more like a medieval-ized Holiday Inn than a home (not that Draco knew what a Holiday Inn was, of course, but if he had, that's what he would have thought it felt like). The only things strewn around in Draco's dorm room were the non-biting insults that his classmates seemed to use for most communication and, of course, Blaise's notes. They were classmates, acquaintances, possibly allies, perhaps friends. Not family like this.

That, Draco decided, could probably be chalked up to the average Slytherin student's distrust of everyone, up to and possibly including themselves. He also wondered briefly where his personal dose of Slytherin mistrust had run off to, and whether there was any possibility of getting it back. Six months prior, he knew, if he had woken up _anywhere_ in Gryffindor Tower (and _especially_ in their Golden Boy's bed) there was a distinct probability that several people would have ended up in St. Mungo's.

As it was, he was standing placidly on the plush carpeting waiting for Harry to dig out his invisibility cloak so that he could get dressed before breakfast. The Slytherin part of Draco (which still controlled a good 70 percent of him on its worst day, make no mistake) was wailing that this was the perfect time to take his revenge on Weasel for... something... and to wreak havoc that would catch Gryffindor House (quite literally) with its collective pants down. He could feel his fingertips itching to grab his wand and turn the Weasel's freckles purple...

And then Harry had stood up and held out the cloak, and the urge to humiliate Ron Weasley died under the stronger urge to get dressed and make his hair somewhat presentable. Another day, perhaps, for the purple freckles.

"I have to wake Ron, but I'll see you at breakfast." Harry commented as Draco unfolded the cloak and slipped it over his shoulders. Harry smirked, looking the blond up and down even as his body disappeared from view. He leaned in close as he cracked the door open, just long enough to place a soft kiss below Draco's ear and whisper, "By the way, I do like the idea of you in my pants."

With that, he flipped the hood of the cloak up and pushed the blond lightly out the door, shutting it with a firm click behind him before Draco had a chance to reply.

Harry turned around to wake Ron, but paused for a moment, his smirk returning full-force. That had been fun.

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Draco fumed all the way to the Slytherin dungeons, scowling mightily at everyone he came across (i.e.- one ghost and a toad that seemed to be wandering about the school, neither of whom could actually _see_ him anyway).

Stupid Harry.

Stupid, stupid Harry.

He hadn't even gotten a chance to reply back.

He had rather liked the idea, too.

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Harry spent most of his morning avoiding both Neville's Venomous Tentacula and the wrath of Professor McGonagall. The first, rather unfortunately, was part of Neville's various Herbology projects for the year, and would probably be around for quite a while. The second was less long-lasting, but more of a threat at the moment.

The professor simply couldn't understand why Harry was having so much trouble concentrating on his work (a two foot, in-class essay review on species-to-species transfigurations of tropical plants). The reason, of course, was that Draco was taking advantage of his seat directly behind the brunet to cast reduced versions of 'rictusempra' at him for the entire period. It was just annoying enough to almost get him in trouble, but not obvious enough for Malfoy to be in any danger of the same. Still, somehow Harry managed to finish his essay just before McGonagall collected the papers and dismissed them.

Harry glared at Draco as the students recessed, earning him the patented Malfoy Smirk (tm) in return. The other students still left in the room took a collective gulp and mysteriously left about a five-foot radius around the two notorious rivals. There was a tension-filled pause, then Professor McGonagall cleared her throat; signaling in no uncertain terms that they were all to clear out immediately, and no fighting would go unpunished. Relieved, the class filed out. McGonagall had mercifully (and unknowingly) saved them from the knowledge that they hadn't really needed much 'saving' at all.

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Draco didn't particularly like Charms. It wasn't that he wasn't good at it; he was, in fact, quite good at it. He had just never seen much use for many of the things they were taught. Certainly some of it could save time, but levitating feathers and such was _not_ a matter of life and death (some people, you may recall, did _not_ spend their eleventh year of life fighting with mountain trolls and dark lords). Every once in a while, though, they learned something interesting. Today was apparently one of those days.

"-ough it is rather complex," Professor Flitwick was explaining, practically falling off his pile of books in the process, "It is an incredibly _useful_ little trick for discovering hidden or forgotten spells. As you should know, old spells can mix hazardously with any new spells or charms being applied, both to objects and people! If you'll look in your texts, there are several anecdotes regarding this phenomenon. I find the one about Mrs. Millberry of Sussex and her problems with her enchanted cabinets to be particularly amusing. Ha!" Flitwick squeaked a little as his book pile teetered dangerously.

"Now, I will be pairing you up to practice this spell. First, though, we need something to test for! Yes! So, if you will all please line up, right along here... yes, that's it, thank you!" The class lined up as ordered, and Flitwick walked along behind them, mumbling a little as he passed each person. When he finished, he shooed them back to their seats.

"There, now! Absolutely harmless, and it will wear off by the end of this class. Very good. Now, I'll be pairing you up!"

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Five minutes later, Draco found himself sitting across from a rather nervous-looking Terry Boot, who was looking about himself nervously.

"Did it work?" He muttered, casting glances from side to side.

"Yes, it _worked_." Draco half-snapped, half-drawled. It just appeared as though the one the spell was cast on couldn't see the results. All around them, though, other students were ringed by thin, bluish-gray auras; signifying the presence of Flitwick's spell. Draco sighed. "Alright, get on with it, then." He crossed his arms across his chest and tried to look threatening. Terry Boot gulped, checking his book one last time to make sure he got it right, then cast the spell.

The room, quite too suddenly for Draco's liking, became conspicuously silent. His silvery eyes narrowed, shooting daggers at the Ravenclaw across from him. Boot gulped again, and tried as hard as he could to shrink into himself. Professor Flitwick himself came running over.

"Oh, my!" He squeaked, blinking rapidly. "Well! This is interesting! Ah,..." He paused for a moment, deciding what to do. "Class is dismissed, if you please! Pages ninety-four to one-forty are to be read for our next class! Don't forget to remove your Revealing Charms before you go!"

Draco glared at everyone as they filed out, taking little notice of the way Hermione Granger was looking at him a little differently than everyone else was. He was much more preoccupied with the reason behind... well, whatever was going on here. It was very unlike Professor Flitwick to dismiss a class early.

"What?" Draco snapped as the professor's attention turned to him. "Have I got purple spots or something?"

"Dear me, no! No, it's not a mistake, Mr. Malfoy, at least I hope not. It just seems that there's... something amiss. Yes, that's a good way to say it. Well, it would probably help if you saw for yourself. Follow me, please!" Flitwick... flitted... through the door that lead to his personal office. Draco trailed behind warily, suspicious but intrigued none-the-less. In the corner was a large, full-length mirror. Draco positioned himself in front of it and looked.

"Do you see? It's really most unusual!" Flitwick was practically falling over himself in excitement.

Draco did see. It was... well, a little cool, really. He was surrounded by a bright halo of sparkling silver and gold light. Buried underneath that, he could see traces of the faint blue-grey that was Flitwick's spell, but it was nothing but a dim shadow compared to this. This was simply magnificent.

"Do you mind if I try to remove it?" Flitwick asked, a twinge of sadness in the edges of his voice. It really was quite pretty, but... "A strange spell like that, you don't know what harm it may cause. It would probably be best to have it done away with." Draco frowned, but understood the logic.

"I suppose so." He stood up straight as Flitwick pulled out his wand.

"Finite Incantatem!"

There was a blinding flash of light, then blackness.

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**A Note Before My Notes:** I am using the bookcanon version of 'rictusempra' in this fic. Yes, that would be the tickling spell. :P**  
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**A/N:** Whee! Look at the plot! See how it flies! #marvels# On this occasion, celebrating the fact that I have now more than 250 reviews #glee!#, I would like to address two reviewers this chapter, one serious, one not-so-much:

**enchantress of the dark** -- I know the dream thing was moving slowly, but it should be picking up a bit now. Also, I know I haven't dealt with the HarryAngst very much. Some of that will be dealt with, I can promise that. Thank you _very_ much for the constructive criticism! NOT that I don't love being told how wonderful I am (because I do, really!), but it's nice to have someone comment on what could make this whole thing better. You have my thanks!

**Katsu Kitsune** -- Hm... tough question! If we're talking canon, I'm not sure I'd like to be either! Bad things happen to Harry, and Draco probably has many bad things happening to him that we don't see because the books are Harry-centric. HOWEVER- If we're talking _my_ reality, here, I'd want to be Draco. Why, you ask? Because then I'd be a snarky, rich, gorgeous blond who gets almost everything he wants, up to and including Harry covered in whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Life as Draco is Good. #smirk# And yes, he is getting taken care of quite a bit in this fic so far, but Harry will need some taking care of, too.

I still can't believe I'm getting this much wonderful feedback on my first Harry Potter fic! I'm glad so many of you like it, I just fear that once it's over, I won't be able to live up to it! (I complain, but really, there are worse problems to have!) For those of you who actually read this far, I am granting you a very nice little teaser- in the next chapter, we shall get some small insight into Draco's movement. :P You all hate me now, don't you? Ah, go puzzle over it for a while! See, there are reasons to read these notes! Love to all!

Thank you all SO much for the reviews, and please keep giving me feedback! I love seeing that little "New Mail" icon after I post a chapter! It just gives me warm-fuzzies:P

Heh. I guess that "review dance" worked, after all! #huggles everyone who reviewed, then passes out cookies#


	25. Gamera

A/N- Despite the title of this chapter, the Gamera aren't really important. Just kinda fun. Oh, and I made them up, actually. The word "Gamera" I pulled from an arc in Sorcerer Hunters, but I think there it was "Gameru". I could be wrong. Oh, whatever. It's not important.

In reply to a reviewer's request, I have used Ron quite a bit more in this chapter. I know he should've appeared more earlier, but I don't think I'm that good at writing Ron... Nevertheless, I will give it a shot! I hope I don't disappoint the Ron fans out there. I'll be trying to keep him as "In-Character" as I can, which means that he's not exactly going to be a sudden convert into the Draco Fanclub. Maybe he'll lighten up eventually... but I wouldn't count on it being soon!

In other news, I know I gave you the "Draco's movement" teaser in the last chapter, but it's not in here. Well, the answer isn't, anyway. I know! I'm sorry! #dodges flying vegetables# The plot for this chapter ran away a little, and I liked where it ended up so much that I decided to let it roam freely for a while.

There are several review responses at the end of this. I moved them there because there were so many to do this time around. Please go ahead and read them! Or, at the very least, don't decide not to review because you didn't feel like scrolling down!

Enjoy!

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Chapter XXV -- Gamera (Because I Can't Think of an Actual Title...)

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Harry was the first one to realize that something was wrong. This wasn't because of any mystical psychic connection, however. In fact, even Harry would have had no idea if he hadn't tripped across it.

Care of Magical Creatures class was back in full swing, with the mix of students hopping about, just barely avoiding the fangs of Hagrid's newest acquisitions (which, Harry was fairly certain, had come by way of Mundungus Fletcher). The beasts, which Hagrid called 'Gamera' ("They're re'lated t' yer Chimera, bu' a good bi' tamer, o'course," Hagrid had enthused) were small, only about two feet high, but had two heads each, and the left head on Harry's Gamera kept giving him slanty looks while the right head kept trying to take a chunk out of Ron's leg with its needle-sharp kitten teeth. Finally, the left head made its strike, and Harry took several quick steps back to avoid it, glad that, at the very least, the stingers on the beasts' scorpion-like tails hadn't grown in yet.

(A/N- You think me silly for the kitten teeth, but you have not known fear until you have faced off with an angered kitten, sans gloves.)

He managed to avoid the Gamera's jaws, only to have his heel catch over something on the ground that certainly wasn't there a moment before. Harry's arms pinwheeled and he tipped backward, landing on his butt in the grass, his knees bent over the shape that had tripped him.

"Ow..." Harry griped, rubbing his hip and looking to see what had tripped him (all the while hoping that Ron was keeping the Gamera busy). He was rather surprised to find that the object he had tripped over was not an object at all. Rather, it was a person. To be specific, it was a rather unconscious Draco Malfoy. Harry blinked.

"Bloody hell. What's _he_ doing here?" Ron made his way over, and Harry noted that he had managed to stun the beast and tie it securely to part of Hagrid's fence. Harry shrugged.

"How'm I supposed to know? Anyway, he's out cold." Harry leaned over to check the blond's pulse. It was strong and steady. He wasn't dead, just unconscious. And somehow, in the middle of Hagrid's paddock. "Professor!" Harry called out, trying to attract Hagrid's attention. At the time, the half-giant was occupied with detaching one of the smaller Gamera from Ernie McMillan's cloak. He finished, and came over. Unfortunately, with him came the attention of the entire class.

"All righ' there, Har- Oh. Well. Tha's odd, in't it? How'd 'e get out here?" Hagrid crouched down a bit as Harry got up to his knees. Around him, he could hear the various members of the class whispering to each other, every once in a while interruped by muted sounds of pain when someone wasn't quick enough to avoid a set of sharp teeth.

"He's fine, I think. Just unconscious." Harry repeated for Hagrid's benefit, trying to ignore the stares coming their way.

"Too bad." Ron quipped, earning him a short, coughing laugh from Hagrid and a rather stern look from Harry. "What?" The redhead put on his most innocent face, and Harry shook his head slightly, trying to hide a smile. Trust Ron to keep everything as normal as possible.

The class's Gamera had been all but forgotten in the commotion over Draco. Which made sense, really, because the Slytherins, at least, were aware that Draco was supposed to be in Charms at the moment. Harry sighed. A rumor of some kind was inevitable at this point. It would probably be outlandish and silly, but it would be there. Harry placed his personal bet on 'Malfoy was trying to kill Harry, but Harry managed to knock him out before any of us even knew it!'. The sad thing was, he knew that he was being rather conservative with his guess.

"I'll take him up to the hospital wing, Professor." Harry volunteered, wishing to get both Draco and himself away from the prying eyes as soon as possible. Hagrid nodded his assent.

"Ah'm sure Ron 'ere can take care o' Fluffball fer the rest o' class, eh Ron?" Hagrid clapped the redhead on the shoulder, causing him to stumble forward. He cast a wary look at the beast tied to the fence, which seemed to be grinning at him. He gulped.

"Er, maybe Harry needs some help? I mean, he is out cold and all, and-" Ron was cut off as Draco groaned and his eyes fluttered open.

"Did anyone get the number of that troll?" the blond groaned, using Harry's offered hand to sit up. Ron groaned as well, but his was one of misery rather than of pain. The beast was _definitely_ grinning at him. He just knew it.

"Alrigh', Malfoy. Off to the hospital wing wi' ya. Harry, see tha' he doesn't get inter any trouble on the way?" With that Hagrid shooed them out of the paddock. Harry gave Ron a look of apology as they began to walk up to the castle. 'Fluffball' was grinning more wickedly than ever, and Harry cringed as he heard a yelp of pain behind him.

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Harry had been rather forced by public opinion to let Draco make most of the trip up to the castle unaided. Once they were out of sight of the paddock, however, he reached over and wrapped an arm firmly around the blond's waist. Draco gave him a grateful smile. He had only been knocked out, but for some reason he felt extremely exhausted.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, concernedly. "What happened?"

Draco grimaced. "I got knocked out." He snapped, perhaps a bit harshly.

"I know _that_," Harry matched him for sheer sarcasm, "What I was asking was _how_, idiot." He melted a little. "And if you're okay." Draco leaned in to the embrace a little, apologizing without words.

"I was in Charms. Flitwick had us doing this thing to reveal spells, and mine looked really weird. All shiny. It was really pretty. And then he tried to take it off, but I don't know if it worked, because then I woke up down there." He nodded toward the paddock sleepily.

"And?" Harry pushed for his other answer. Draco smiled a little sheepishly.

"And I think I'm okay. I feel a little out of it, but mostly okay."

"Good." Harry tugged him a little closer as they approached the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey's sixth-sense for student injuries had her waiting at the door.

A few minutes later, when Draco had been situated in a bed and given strict instructions to rest, Harry realized something.

"Er, Draco?"

"Hm?"

"If you got knocked out, what happened to Professor Flitwick?"

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By the time Madam Pomfrey summoned help to locate Flitwick, he was already waking up. Professor McGonagall was the one pressed into service to bring him down to the hospital wing, where he told his version of events. As his more-or-less matched Draco's account, the blond wasn't held accountable for anything that had happened.

The professors weren't done with him yet, though. Rather quickly, the Headmaster and Professor Snape (being head of Draco's house) were summoned to help determine what, exactly, had happened, and what to do about it. Once the events of the afternoon had been recounted yet again, Dumbledore spoke.

"Well then, let's see what this spell affecting Mr. Malfoy may be, and we will decide our course of action from there. Professor Flitwick, if you would?"

"Yes, yes, of course!" He performed the revealing charm on Draco again. The room took a collective gasp, and everyone except Dumbledore and Harry (who had been allowed to stay, despite Professor Snape's usual protestations) took a half-step back.

Honestly, Harry's first thought was that Draco had been right- the halo of sparkling silver-and-gold rays surrounding the blond were "really pretty". His first _spoken_ thought, though, was, "Wow."

"'Wow' indeed, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore was doing his smiling thing again. He addressed the assembled teachers (plus Madam Pomfrey). "Does anyone know what spell could cause this particular effect? I confess that I have never encountered something quite like it."

The professors shook their heads one by one. Harry blinked. This was the first time that he could remember that the teachers had no idea what was going on; no miracle solutions to whatever problem had come up. He suddenly felt a little nervous.

"I tried 'finite incantatem'," Flitwick spoke, "But I feel it may not be in our best interest to try again, considering its effects the last time."

Dumbledore nodded. "I agree. Minerva? Severus?" The Potions master shook his head, but McGonagall spoke up.

"I have an old acquaintance who may be of some help. An expert in spell identification. I shall send an owl immediately, with your permission." She bowed her head slightly in deference, but her eyes were sharp.

"You have it." Dumbledore nodded her out of the room. "Professors? Perhaps you should be returning to your classes? I would like to have a private word with Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy." The two men nodded and exited the wing, and Madam Pomfrey occupied herself at the far end of the space.

Smiling his enigmatic smile, Dumbledore leaned in close to the two boys and spoke quietly. "While I, personally, have no objection to whatever sleeping arrangements you prefer, I feel it is my duty as Headmaster to inform you that school policy forbids students from different Houses to enter each other's dormitory bedrooms, for any reason. Therefore, I will give you this warning again, Harry," He paused briefly, his eyes twinkling as they did whenever he was up to something, then whispered conspiratorily: "_You must not be seen._"

Dumbledore stood straight again, signalling that the conversation was near its end. He paused before leaving, however. "You may wish to ask Ms. Granger about this particular phenomenon. I believe she has been doing some extracurricular reading that may be of some use. And, on a personal note, I do wish you both the best of luck." His eyes still twinkling, Dumbledore exited the hospital wing, leaving two confused teenagers with beet-red faces staring after him in shock.

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"... and then suddenly _Malfoy_ is just laying there, on the ground, out cold, and Harry _trips_ on him! And then the git, I mean _him_, not Harry, _he_ wakes up acting like nothing at all happened! Harry took him up to the Hospital Wing and I haven't seen him since. Harry, I mean, not _him_."

Hermione walked beside Ron, only half-listening as he fought with his pronouns. She didn't really understand why he was so angry over the whole event- after all, nothing had happened to him but getting a bit scratched by Hagrid's new pets. Still, the story Ron was telling was very interesting indeed.

Somehow, Draco Malfoy had gotten from the Charms classroom to Hagrid's paddock in less than ten minutes since she had last seen him in the classroom (which meant most of that ten minutes _should_ have been spent with Professor Flitwick), and he hadn't been seen by anybody. Which would have been hard, even if he'd had the whole ten minutes, because he'd been lit up like a Christmas tree when she'd last seen him. And she still hadn't accounted for how he'd been knocked unconscious; Ron had said Draco had been flat on his back when Harry had tripped over him.

It was a mystery, and Hermione had always had a bit of a weakness for mysteries. Something about the whole situation was nagging at her, there was something familiar that just wouldn't go away. It felt, she realized upon further introspection (and further ignoring of Ron as he detailed several Gamera attacks), rather like the time in First Year that she couldn't remember where she'd read about Nicholas Flamel. The situation seemed eerily familiar, and she knew the key to it was somewhere within her grasp. She was determined to find it. To _know_, not just wonder. Besides, having memorized all her textbooks over the summer, she was finding her classes a trifle dull.

However, she would put it off until she had more time to think about it, perhaps with the aid of the quiet library and its many tomes. Until then, she would walk beside Ron and make sympathetic noises until he stopped whining about the Gamera and went back to being angry about Dark Lords, Malfoy, Slytherins in general, Dean dating his sister, and the Montrose Magpies soundly beating the Chudley Cannons for about the four-millionth time.

Not necessarily in that order.

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They rather quickly located Harry in the Hospital Wing, where he had apparently decided to stay and make sure that Draco was perfectly alright. Madam Pomfrey had apparently decided that Harry was no threat to her patient's recovery, and had gone off to continue whatever it was she had been doing before he and Draco had arrived. Hermione grinned quietly to herself about that. If only Madam Pomfrey knew...

When they walked in, Harry was seated on the edge of Draco's infirmary cot, somewhere around the middle, with his torso turned so he could face the blond. This was obvious to anyone who entered; i.e- Ron and Hermione. It was only Hermione, however, who noticed that both of the boys' cheeks were slightly flushed, and their lips were perhaps a little more swollen than they normally should have been. If that wasn't enough, Harry wasn't directly meeting her eyes. _Textbook case of Harry being embarrassed._ Hermione diagnosed, her grin escaping all semblance of control. Ginny was going to _love_ this.

Ron, however, was oblivious.

"Heya, Harry!" He grinned, then looked over at Draco, grinning maliciously. "Hey, Ferret. Feeling better?" Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously, but he grudgingly gave the redhead the credit he deserved for that one. The Weasel had figured out how to insult him without actually being hostile, thus not incurring the wrath of either of his best friends. Sneaky. Two could play at that game.

"Not bad, Weasel. And yourself? I do hope _Fluffball_ didn't harm you too badly in Harry's absence? We wouldn't want you stuck in here as well." Draco found great joy in stressing the name of the beast; it was tremendously funny that the boy had been scratched up by a two-foot cat-thing named 'Fluffball'. Ron, however, did not find it so funny. The two boys matched glares for a long moment, silently declaring war.

"Come on, Harry. It's time for dinner, and then don't you have Quidditch tryouts to handle?" Hermione interrupted, forestalling World War Three for a moment, at least. Harry nodded, but glanced down at Draco briefly, hesitation apparent on his face. Draco himself saw it even before Hermione did.

"Don't worry about me, Pomfrey'll let me out of here in a minute, anyway. I'm fine. Go eat." With that, he gave Harry a light shove off the cot. "When we beat you sorry lot for the Cup this year, I don't want all your little Housemates whining about me keeping you undernourished." He grinned at Harry and made little shooing motions with one hand, ushering them toward the door.

"Oh, you _wish_, Malfoy!" Ron was quite suddenly up-in-arms at this perceived challenge, and didn't notice that Harry was rolling his eyes at him. Draco snickered as Hermione dragged "her boys" out of the Hospital Wing by their sleeves, intent on force feeding them if it became necessary.

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tbc...

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**A Few Review Responses:**

**Little Loco Lad**: Er... If you don't like slash, why did you click on a fic labeled HPDM Slash? Just wondering. However, I am glad that you did, and I'm glad you left a review. And such a kind review, too! I confess, I was worried that it was a flame at first, but thank you. Being compared to JK is about the highest praise an HP fic author can get! Just for you, there's some more Ron in this chapter.

**Joana**: I promise, I haven't forgotten to explain how Draco appeared at Privet Drive. To give a slight hint, it's connected to how he keeps appearing in Harry's bed, and to what happens in this chapter. (BTW- extra credit to anyone who figures out the connection before I explain it!) As for the dreams... I sort of meant them to be obtuse, that way I can't back myself into a corner. Don't worry, they'll be getting less metaphorical as we go along. And my OC might start explaining things a bit more, which will help everyone (Harry and Draco included!).

**Charming Marauders**: Thanks for the review! However, I'm not sure you mean by who "burst into" their dream. Did I say that anywhere? Maybe I'm being stupid for not having a clue what you're talking about, but if you could pinpoint where you're referring to, I'd be more than happy to clear it up for you!

**Juniper**: The "pants" comment was partially random flirting, and partially a reference back to the beginning of the chapter where Harry was imagining Draco in his missing pj pants (which, incidentally, Draco was indeed wearing).

**MJLuvsPolar**: Aw! Now you went and messed up all my subtle-ness with the Siri thing... psh! Just go tell everyone, why don't you? No, I'm not mad. Nice catch. As for Ron... well, he's going to remain oblivious a little longer. I need comic relief, and as you have seen in this chapter, a war is brewing... (didn't that sound all nice and foreboding? I know. I'm so proud.)

**dreamerdoll**: Yes, Draco lied. You just don't know about it. But trust me, he lied. It will be important later. Really. Maybe. Unless the plot runs away with me again. It was important in the beginning! I promise it was! #hides#

**KatsuKitsune**: yay! you reviewed again! I love returning reviewers! Especially when they bring muffins! #accepts muffins and crawls back into her hiding place to write chapter 26#

I'd like to thank all of you who reviewed! I'm sorry I can't respond to everyone, but if you ask a direct question, I promise I'll try to answer it in the next update! I actually have a folder in my inbox just to save those reviews to make sure they get a reply, so don't be shy about asking questions! #huggles to all# I love you guys!

(**HINT**: Click the Little Box!) #grin#


	26. The Bureau of Between Life Affairs

**A/N:**_**Three Important Things**_

**1:** I am very sorry about the delay on this chapter! My vacation snuck up on me, so I lost three weeks of working time (my parents wouldn't let me bring my laptop...). On top of that, I came home with a head full of HBP and a bad case of writers' block. In the future, if you all want to know if I'm still alive between updates, check on my website (available through my profile). My blog will have my ramblings and rants about any progress I am making on new chapters. Also, LJ comments are a good way to poke me into working on this (though reviews are still the best!).

And yes, I know I wrote another fic in a completely different fandom in the meantime, but I really needed to get away from this thing for a little bit and start again with a fresh outlook. I think it worked, and I love where the plot is going, so please stick with me! #bows#

**2:** I have only one thing to say about HBP:

_"Harry, however, had never been less interested in Quidditch; he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy."_  
(p. 383, HBP, British version)

Am I the only one whose little slasher heart went pitter-patter at that phrase? I think not! #joy!# Gods, that whole book was slashy! (except for all the het parts) :P  
Here ends my HBP commentary.

**3:** _**This chapter has a dedication**_To **Winter Darkblade**, who reviewed my Golden Sun fic and told me she liked _Serendipity_! Whee for double compliments! Now, I instruct all of you to go and read her DMHP fic, _For the Sake of Memory,_ which I have recently agreed to beta read for. At the time of this writing, it has only one chapter published, but I like it and I think you all will too. She has snarky Draco down pat! So, after you read this chapter _(and review!)_, go and look her up. Mmm-kay? _(and review her fic, too!)_

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**Chapter XXVI -- The Bureau of Between Life Affairs**

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Quidditch tryouts had gone well, something that Harry was particularly pleased about. He had secretly been quite nervous about running them, unsure of whether he would really be able to tell so many hopefuls that they wouldn't be able to play on the team. Of course, his job was made significantly easier after all the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who had shown up had been sent back to their respective houses. #_A/N-_ _I had to. I just had to. Luv to JK!#_

Harry snorted as he made his way up the dormitory stairs. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around why so many people wanted to be near him. It was certainly a bad decision; in terms of lifespan, at least. The twinge of sadness at the thought of his godfather wasn't quashed so quickly this time, and he allowed himself a moment to remember him without Ron or Hermione around to put on their 'we're concerned for Harry' faces.

Sirius would've found it hilarious that students from other houses had shown up to try out for the Gryffindor team. Harry smiled. He knew that his godfather would have been proud of him, making captain of the team. He swore to himself that he would do his best to honor that pride. If Gryffindor didn't win the Quidditch Cup this year, it wouldn't be because of lack of effort-- Harry would personally make sure of it.

He entered the Sixth Years' room as quietly as he could, knowing that the others were probably asleep. He had stayed up for a while to finish his essay for Potions. He found the activity rather novel, having never bothered to stay up to finish Potions homework before. Now, the flashing red numbers on Dean's alarm clock read 1:23, and Harry yawned on instinct.

He slipped into his pajamas, idly wondering why Hermione hadn't appeared (as she always did) to shoo him off to bed at midnight. The mystery of Hermione's whereabouts was enough distraction that he didn't notice the other person in his bed until he rolled over on them. Harry blinked.

"Mrrgf?" Draco mumbled. Or rather, that's what Harry heard. He doubted it was what the blond had meant. He waited until Draco seemed a bit more conscious to begin actual communication.

"You're here early." He commented as he slid under the sheets, enjoying the warmth that Draco had already managed to store up in them. Draco gave a nod and slid closer to Harry, using his shoulder as a pillow. "Do you want to go back to your room? The cloak's under the pillow..." He trailed off as Draco made a protesting noise.

"I like it better here. Now shut up and let me sleep."

Harry would have been more impressed by his sudden coherency if he hadn't immediately given a kitten-like yawn and gone back to sleep. He smiled, drew the hangings, and followed suit.

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They were in a tunnel. Or perhaps just a hallway with a low ceiling and no side doorways, but it certainly looked like a tunnel. Draco turned to Harry and blinked eloquently. Harry shrugged.

"I guess we walk." Was all the brunet could offer. Draco gave him a pouting look, but they started off anyway. Harry was strongly reminded of the time he had walked through the field in a previous dream- they seemed to be moving faster-- or perhaps farther-- than they should have been. Within a few minutes, they could see light. In another minute, they had reached it, and stepped out.

Into an office.

Papers were piled everywhere, on top of what might have been a desk, on the floor, on a chair that might have originally been meant to sit guests. Or _guest_, rather. The piles were so tall that they seemed to form their own walls, directing the flow of traffic through the room.

"What in bloody hell is this?" Draco questioned; mostly to himself, though Harry heard him. So, apparently, did whoever owned the office.

"Welcome to the Bureau of Between Life Affairs. Can I help you?" A voice emanated from behind the stacks on what appeared to be the desk. The two boys regarded each other for a moment, then stepped forward to peer over them. They had to lift onto their toes in order to see.

"Yes? Hello? Can I help you?" The voice repeated, looking vaguely annoyed.

The voice, it turned out, belonged to a ghost. Possibly the strangest ghost Harry or Draco had ever seen, however. Besides being dressed in an exceedingly Muggle-like fashion (and, to Harry's eye, a very nerdy Muggle-like fashion at that), he seemed, like their own Professor Binns, to not realize that he was dead. He kept going through the motions of sorting and filing the various stacks and folders before him, never noticing that his hands passed straight through them. Eventually, he stopped shuffling and actually looked at them.

"Well? I am very busy, in case you hadn't noticed, so if you have no business here would you please go away?" He glared at them through horn-rimmed spectacles. He sounded pinched, a bit nasal, and very annoyed. Harry, upon reflection, would have come to the conclusion that this spectre was the God of Overworked Receptionists and File Clerks. Unfortunately, reflecting would have to come later.

"I- er, we... We came through the... tunnel...?" Harry turned to indicate precisely which tunnel he meant, but all that stood behind them was a stone wall with several more stacks of paperwork leaning against it. It seemed good enough for the ghost, however. He huffed in the most put-out manner he could.

"Well. So it's you, then. Come for training I expect. That way, take a left at the Rothbert file and go through the door."

Harry and Draco regarded each other with a series of facial expressions one would expect at this turn of events. Finally, Draco spoke, matching the ghostly paper-shuffler for sheer undisguised derision.

"And _which_ of these, exactly, is the 'Rothbert file'?" He raised one elegant eyebrow in his trademark sneer (glad to use it, actually, as it had been growing rusty from disuse in the previous month or so). The ghost looked mildly impressed at this, but covered it up as quickly as was possible.

"The large green one with 'ROTHBERT' on it in large capital letters. Or do you need it spelled out? Perhaps you can't read, hmm?" The ghost continued in this vein as Harry and Draco exited, following his directions, grumbling to himself about 'rotten teenagers' and 'following procedure' and something involving 'signed in triplicate'. Harry was pleased to get out. Only someone who had grown up in the Muggle world could properly understand the fear of anything involving the word 'triplicate'.

True to the ghost's word, however, there was a door just to the left of the Rothbert file (which was indeed large and green). Draco, having arrived at the door first, was the one to open it. Inside... well, Harry couldn't really see anything inside. The whole doorway seemed to be filled with smoke. Or something like smoke, anyway. It was gray and hazy, but it stayed within the doorway, not spilling out into the office area. Draco looked at Harry, his eyebrow again expertly arched.

"Does he expect us to actually walk into this?" The blond intoned, disbelief tinged with disgust dripping from every word. "Because if he does, he's even crazier than I thought he was. And what did he mean by 'come for training', anyway?" He was using his particularly snippy voice this time, and Harry was at a loss. He held up his hands before him in defense.

"Don't ask me! I don't know any more than you do. Like, where'd the tunnel go? It's a dream, isn't it? None of this is even really here!" Harry waved a hand toward a stack of folders, and was given a nice paper cut as a parting gift. "Ow. Well," He finished, somewhat sheepishly, "At least, I don't think it's really here."

"It's real enough."

Draco, who had been about to speak, looked slightly annoyed at the interruption- before he realized that it wasn't the ghost who had spoken. The voice had come from beyond the doorway; inside the strange smoke. He jumped and quickly stepped backward until his arm brushed against Harry's. The smoke swirled ominously for a moment, then began to break and clear as a figure moved toward them.

"Professor!" Harry exclaimed. Draco just made a little 'tch' noise and looked away, the barest hint of a flush chased quickly away by sheer Malfoy willpower.

"Hello, Harry." She greeted him, smiling serenely. "And hello to you as well, Draco. Or would you prefer 'Mr. Malfoy'?" Harry marveled as she exhibited eyebrow-raising skills to challenge Draco's, suddenly feeling that this was a skill he should have learned much earlier in life.

"Either is fine." Draco replied, a bit testily. Harry bumped his shoulder with his own, and Draco tried to relax.

"What is all of this?" Harry questioned, at once referring to the disappearing tunnel, the office and the smoky room beyond the door. She smiled at him.

"I wouldn't have expected you to know it. This office is the home of the Bureau of Between Life Affairs. We don't actually have anything to do with them, officially speaking, but they do owe us several large favors, so here we are! They've... generously... allowed us the use of a bit of their space, for as long as we need it. Well, as long as _you_ need it, if you want to get technical about it. I'm afraid that the two of you will probably need quite a bit of practice, which is why we've arranged it the way we have. Here you are!"

She handed them each a section of cord, knotted and woven, with a thin square of metal in the middle. The metal was a bit odd looking; it seemed to be silver at first glance, but the light that reflected from it shone a greenish-purple. On each was carved some sort of symbol. Together, Harry and Draco took a quick look at them; there seemed to be no similarity.

"They were created especially for the two of you. They won't work for anyone else, and you can't trade them with each other, either. In addition, they are practically indestructible, and should they become lost for any reason, they will more than likely find their way back to you. How long that will take, however, is an unknown, and I would avoid testing it if I were you. Now, put them on."

The boys blinked at her.

"On...?" Draco echoed, hanging the question mark as an afterthought. She rolled her eyes.

"I certainly hope that you aren't this slow during my class," She sighed, pained. "On. As in, 'on you'. Around your necks. Put the runes on the inside, there's no sense in advertising them." Harry was first to do as instructed. He gasped as the ends of the cord wove themselves together under his fingertips. It left no indication that it had ever been anything but a perfect circle, and the cord tightened itself around his neck until it fit like a choker.

"Wicked!" He enthused, turning his attention to Draco. "Do yours!" Draco rolled his eyes, but did as instructed. Harry grinned when he gasped a little as well.

"A-hem." The woman before them reminded them of her presence, waving a hand to catch their attention again. "Now then. You can use these to get here whenever you like, but I recommend that you like to come here frequently." Her sharp eyes caught both of the boys, and they found themselves spontaneously nodding their agreement. "This is your new training room. I promise you that there is nothing within it that can harm you except each other. There are, however, a few things you should be aware of involving its use.

"The first and most important thing to remember when you are in this room is that you cannot speak to each other unless you are touching each other. Well, allow me to rephrase," She backtracked upon seeing their expressions of complete befuddlement. "You can speak to one another, but the other will not hear it unless you are in physical contact. There are reasons for this, I assure you.

"Secondly, your type of magic will not work within this space. We use a different sort of magic here, and this is what you are here to learn. While it is not particularly difficult to use, it is very picky about who it allows to use its power, and requires much practice to use efficiently. You need to be able to call it forth as naturally as you would use your wand now. We will teach you more about it as time goes on, but the basic use of these skills should come quite easily to the two of you.

"Third: when you enter this room, you will automatically be separated. At first, this will be only by a short distance. Later, the distance will grow and obstacles will be placed in your paths. Your first goal is to learn to reach each other. Once you have accomplished this to our satisfaction, we will help you learn the next step. Do you have any questions?" She regarded the boys searchingly.

Draco was the first to respond. " _How_ exactly are we supposed to find each other if we can't speak and our magic doesn't work? And furthermore, _why_ do we need to do this?"

Harry considered for a moment, then decided that those were probably his first questions as well. He could think of one more, however.

"Also, you said we could come here when we like?" Harry questioned, and recieved a nod in answer. "Er... how do we do that, exactly? Are we just supposed to keep going to sleep?"

"Excellent questions. You won't actually be able to get here directly. Rather, you will be able to access the Tunnel Between. From there you will be able to get to the office and to this room. When you get to the office, state your name and say 'training', and Mr. Eckleburg will let you through."

"Mr. Eckleburg being the crazy ghost behind all the papers?" Draco inquired, cutting in smoothly. She nodded.

"Yes, I'm afraid he's getting worse and worse. Ah, well. I do warn you that you will not be able to get to this room without announcing your business to him, so please don't try it. Now, to finish what I was saying, in order to get to the Tunnel Between, you need only touch your rune and think 'snidget'." Draco snorted, and earned himself an annoyed half-glare.

"To return, simply do the same thing again. You may speak the password aloud, if you wish, but it isn't necessary. These runes operate more on intent than on anything else. Though you can only enter the Tunnel, you can exit from anywhere and will be returned to the same place you left. It's really very simple. And for your information, Mr. Malfoy, I happen to like snidgets." She sniffed.

"It is also prudent to realize that while you are in this place, time is passing much more quickly for you. Several hours in this room will equate to under a minute in your 'actual' time. We recommend that you get quite a bit of sleep in the coming weeks, or you will soon be too tired to function well."

"How can that-- that _can't_ really work!" Harry was stuttering. Slowing down time? Time-travel, he knew, was possible, in measured amounts. But to slow Time itself down, even for a small area... It was impossible!

Their strange professor chuckled. "Not now. I promise you, it will be explained in due time, but the answer you seek requires more explanation than you realize." She smiled at Harry, then turned to look Draco in the eyes.

"To answer _your_ questions, Draco, you will find each other using your life force as a guide. Eventually, you will not only be able to feel each other's life energy, but also see it. This is extraordinarily crucial, as you will be unable to see your own life energy. As to your second question, I would hope you remember the Cloak of Immortality I mentioned before?"

The boys nodded.

"Like I said, the one you call the Dark Lord wishes to steal it from where it has been hidden. The only way we can be assured of stopping him from reaching this goal is for you to get it first. Now, it's time to begin your lessons!"

Faster than they could blink, she was behind them, and they found themselves stumbling face-first into the wall of smoke.

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**A/N-** Whee! Look! I got a whole bunch of plot out of the way, so we can get back to HD fluff and other fun stuffs. : )

I was asked one question in this round of reviews, by **rainfall4me**. Unfortunately, I can't tell you what Draco lied about. Yet, anyway. And yes, Dumbledore did say something similar in POA. In the case of this fic, he was just paraphrasing himself as a bit of an inside joke for he and Harry. It really has no deeper meaning than that. It just seemed a Dumbledore-ish thing to do. :P

For those of you who will be wondering, I'm keeping the Quidditch team JK gave us in HBP. It's a lot simpler than thinking up my own. Also, while I love the idea of Luna commentating, I don't think I could write for her very well. She'll probably appear, but not that often. Sorry, Luna fans! I love her too, but that doesn't mean I can write her... Wish I could though!

Also, I'm going to spontaneously forget all pairings put forth in HBP except Ron and Hermione (who were a given from the start, anyway). Was I the only one annoyed at the 'let's pair people up!' party at the end of HBP? Anyway, Remus belongs with Sirius, damnit! Political correctness can be stuck Where The Sun Don't Shine.

...Fans of Discworld understand. All others, don't worry about it. ; )

Please Review! Reviews make for a happy and motivated authoress! (And don't forget to read Winter Darkblade's fic!)


	27. Girl Talk II

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**Chapter XXVII - Girl Talk II**

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It was rather difficult to find a private place to talk in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory. Not for lack of rooms, really, but for the fact that some of the portraits had as much propensity to gossip as the living girls did. Thus, Hermione and Ginny had to move their secret discussions about Harry's love life to the anteroom of the girls' washroom, which luckily enough featured a small-but-comfortable sofa and a low table (currently the home of several back issues of Witch Weekly).

During the day, the space was usually occupied by one or more of their classmates- fixing makeup, doing their hair, and gossiping in the grand tradition of girls' washrooms. This late at night, though, the only one who could hear their conversation was the portrait of St. Rita (who tended to like stories like these and, unlike her journalist namesake, kept her mouth shut). And it was quite a bit of conversation that needed to be had, too. Hermione really needed someone to act as a sounding board for her developing theories on the mystery of Draco's appearance at the paddock that afternoon, and Ginny was about the only other person in the school that she could discuss it with. Ginny was also sitting expectantly, waiting for Hermione to begin speaking.

"Well, I'm sure you've heard about what happened this afternoon, right?" she asked the redhead, who nodded enthusiastically.

"Of course! Everyone in the school's heard about it by now! Dean said Harry managed to knock him out or something! He didn't, did he?" the youngest Weasley looked worried. "I mean, they were getting on so well..."

"No, he didn't. I went down to the hospital wing with Ron, remember? Both he and Harry said the same thing; that Draco was knocked out when Harry tripped over him. I just want to know _how_. I mean, I was in Charms with Draco, and he had this weird thing- Oh! I haven't told you yet, have I?"

Ginny looked confused. "Told me what? What 'weird thing'?"

Hermione took a breath and got her thoughts in order. "I have the same Charms period as Draco. We were working on Revealing Charms in class today- the sort that let you see what spells are already on things so you don't mix new ones in?"

Ginny nodded, familiar with them. "Mum uses them sometimes, on things she thinks dad might've done something to." Hermione grinned, relieved that her companion was familiar with the subject and she could skip that bit.

"Right. So, Professor Flitwick put mosquito repelling charms on all of us so that we'd have something to find, and then we worked on revealing them. Mine worked fine, but Draco was working with Terry Boot, and the weirdest thing happened. It looked like Terry did the spell right, because you could see Flitwick's charm, a little bit, but there was this huge spell aura around him. It was really amazing; I'd never seen anything like it. Pretty, too- Flitwick's charm was a sort of murky blue fog around each person, but whatever was on Draco made this bright, silver and gold sparkly-halo thing." Ginny looked intrigued by this.

"Draco didn't seem to know what was going on, though," Hermione continued, "since you can't see your own spell auras with only simple revealing charms. Then, Flitwick ended the class early and kept Draco behind. The next thing I knew, Ron came into the library and told me that he had wound up on his back in Hagrid's paddock during their Care of Magical Creatures lesson."

"And Harry tripped over him." Ginny finished, adding in what she found to be the most amusing part of the story.

"Yep. At least, that's what they all said. Harry said the professors don't even know what spell is on Draco! Apparently, Flitwick tried to take it off, but it didn't work. Flitwick got knocked out, too, but he was found in the classroom, right where he had been. I just wish I could have seen what happened! I mean, what if the spell that's on Draco has something to do with why he wound up at Hagrid's instead of in the room with Flitwick? I wasn't there, so I don't really know." She trailed off, losing a bit of steam as her well of information began to run dry.

"However, I _do_ know that they were snogging in the hospital wing." Hermione added, her eyes glinting and a touch of smugness in her voice. This was really the fun part of the whole topic, anyway. Ginny now looked _very_ intrigued, and Rita seemed to have perked up a little and was listening more obviously than usual. In her past five years of her career of hanging in the girls' washroom, she had heard many, many things about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. That they were snogging had not been one of those things, until this point.

"Are you sure?" Ginny questioned, a bit skeptical on this point. She had guessed that the boys were harboring an attraction for each other, but that they had advanced that far that quickly was a bit hard to believe. She had always had Harry pegged more as the slow-moving type, as far as relationships might go.

"Pretty sure," Hermione confirmed. "The positioning was right, they both looked a little mussed up, and Harry wouldn't look Ron or I in the face for at least a full minute after we walked in."

Ginny nodded. That was as close as you could get to incontrovertible proof without actually catching them in the act. Rita looked mildly impressed.

"I can't believe it! How did we miss all of this until now?" the redhead groaned, flopping back against the sofa cushions. She looked over at Hermione, questioning. "I mean, this had to have been brewing! I can't have just happened in the last month, can it?"

Hermione had to pause and think about that one. Much as she was a walking library of academic knowledge, her knowledge of the inner workings of boys was somewhat less advanced.

"I don't know." She admitted finally, with a bit of a shrug. "With Harry, I wouldn't have guessed it, but Draco is a bit of a wildcard."

Ginny looked concerned. "You don't think he's... well, _forcing_ Harry into anything, do you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I don't think so. Harry looked quite happy about it, to tell you the truth. Well, when I could see his face, anyway. And besides, I think the best word for Draco right now is 'besotted'. He was doing this adorable little thing in History of Magic..."

By the time Hermione got to bed, the clock on her nightstand read 1:46.

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**A/N**- There you have it! The mystery of Hermione's whereabouts has been revealed! She didn't kick Harry off to bed because she was busy gossiping about him with Ginny. Remember kids- gossip is wrong! (except when it's about hot guys getting it on with other hot guys, then it's okay). _#big, happy authoress grin# _Also, I apologize about the recap-ness of this chapter. The next chapter has... er... fun things. :)

**Notes:** Rita is the Roman Catholic patron saint of impossible cases. Obviously the perfect person to overhear washroom gossip, and I think she would love our boys. :) For more info on her, you can go to www(dot)catholic(dot)org(slash)saints. She's under "popular saints," or you can look her up by name. Rita Skeeter was not involved in the naming. It was just... serendipity! #cheeky grin#

**Okay, Some Review Responses!**

**Dieu Anonyme**: _This chapter is dedicated to you_, for writing me the longest review in history! I had so much fun reading it! That was a very nice prediction-request thing, about the Hermione and Ginny sections. :)

I know I could make some chapters shorter, but when I wrote a slightly shorter one, everyone complained that it was too short! _#dies#_ Also, I actually find myself having to go back and reread in order to remember what's been going on, so don't feel bad!

**Web-of-Knots**: Ooh! I like the quote! Where's it from? Nice guessing, by the way. Though I have taken some liberties when it comes to their actual job description. :)

**Soleil Fonce**: You do deserve a cookie! _#gives cookie#_ I agree with you that JK realized she was five seconds from being asked to do an appearance at the Pride Parade, and decided to "fix" it. She handled the bathroom scene all wrong, too. I expected some cute hurt/comfort-ness, and instead I got blood! WTF? _#sadness#_ Oh, by the way, I _LOVE_ the word "molest-igate"! If I steal it sometime, will you hate me? _#puppy eyes#_

**Siiarrei**: Don't worry about blabbing! I love long reviews:) I know, I know, you're right about JK having to please the world. Could you imagine what the people who think the books are satanic would be saying if the main character wound up being gay? #rolls eyes# But still, the slashiness was wonderful, wasn't it?

**Alice Midnight**: _#blinks#_ Oh, well. Cool! Is it a boy or a girl? Cuz if it's a boy I'm naming him James Frederick. (Don't ask). Yes, Sirius and Remus belong together (and I shall desperately try to work it into this plot if I can, because it just needs to be). And thanks for the favorites add!

_#huggles all 197 people that have this on their favorites lists!#_


	28. Getting to Like Wednesdays

**A/N**: There is fluffy almost-smut contained herein. I'll leave the notes 'till the end and let you just get right to it. :)

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**Chapter XXVIII - Getting to Like Wednesdays**

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Harry and Draco were awakened twice on Wednesday morning before they actually decided to get up. First, as usual, was the piercing whine of the alarm clock followed by Seamus's cursing. Harry, accustomed to ignoring the demonic device, simply rolled over slightly, threw an arm across Draco's waist, and snuggled in for some more shut-eye. Draco, who was somewhat less desensitized, took a bit longer to fall back to sleep, but the warmth of the sheets and Harry's body pressed against his own soon worked their magic.

The second time they were awakened was less annoying than the first, but caused Draco to nearly have a panic attack. Ron, freshly showered and changed, was kicking the side of Harry's bed repeatedly.

"Harry! Harry, wake up! You're going to miss breakfast, you know!" Ron's voice was indeed loud enough to wake Harry up (as if the kicking hadn't already done that). It was also loud enough to wake Draco, whose immediate reaction was to hex the Weasel for disturbing a rather pleasant dream involving a naked Harry, a paintbrush, and some of the Weasley twins' strawberry-flavoured edible ink (Harry had been given a generous supply of the stuff to use-- along with their 'Palatable Parchment'-- for passing notes in class, not for... well... you get the idea).

His second reaction, and the one he actually decided to go with, was to dive under the covers and cling to Harry as tightly as possible, in an effort to minimize the obviousness of his presence. It was probably a good thing that he did so, as Ron flicked open the hangings of Harry's bed a moment later, sticking his head in.

"Harry? Are you going to get up? Breakfast is already half over..." The redhead blinked at the relative darkness inside the hangings, his eyes trying to adjust.

Draco breathed shallowly and as silently as he could, trying to match his breathing rhythm to Harry's and thanking his lucky stars that Harry's body was between him and the Weasel. He tucked his head against Harry's chest, breathing in the soft scent of his body, his sweat. He couldn't help but nuzzle a little as he felt Harry stir against his stomach.

"I've got free period, and it's Wednesday. I hate Wednesdays," Harry grumbled, "So sod off and let me sleep, will you?" He snuggled down; into his pillow, from Ron's perspective, though what he was actually snuggling into was quite different. And much more comfortable.

"Alright..." Ron was a bit hesitant, but withdrew a bit anyway. "But you're missing breakfast!" Apparently, Draco surmised, this was a capital offense in the world of Ronald Weasley.

"I'll get something from the kitchens if I'm hungry. Go on, already! I'll bet Hermione's waiting for you."

That seemed to be enough, as Draco's sharply pricked ears caught the sound of the hangings closing again with a 'snick', then the sound of the door to the dormitory closing. He took a deep, shuddering, relieved breath as Harry wiggled in his grasp until he, too, was buried beneath the covers, his face just in front of Draco's.

"That was close." He grinned, a little hint of adrenaline-high still caught in his voice.

"I can't believe that turned you on." Draco sighed theatrically, rubbing his hip against Harry's groin. The fact that he was already half-hard was poorly disguised by the thin layers of flannel separating them.

"Mmm." Harry purred a little, grinning even wider as he laughed, "So I'm a closet exhibitionist. That didn't turn you on? Not even a little?"

"No." Draco rebuked, nibbling lightly on Harry's lower lip before he continued. "But this," He thrust upward with his hip and received another purr as a reward, "this is certainly doing the trick."

"Is it?" Harry growled out, smirking a little as he pulled Draco tight against him and rolled, trapping the blond beneath him. Draco looked up at him, a hint of surprise in his expression, then Harry's mouth was on his-- testing, tasting, seeking to devour. Draco curled his fingers into Harry's tangled hair, reveling in the hunger of the kiss and the friction of their cloth-covered erections rubbing together between their bodies.

"I like it," Draco panted as the kiss broke, "when you're aggressive." He thrust his hips up, seeking more of that delicious heat. With a wicked grin, Harry thrust back, pressing Draco's body down into the soft mattress and taking advantage of his better positioning to keep it there.

"Like that?" He purred suggestively, his voice husky and low. Draco shuddered beneath him.

"God, yes!" Draco groaned, putting the hand that was still tangled in Harry's hair to good use as he dragged him down into another kiss. It was slow and wet and sensual, and Draco moaned into Harry's mouth as Harry used his leverage to grind their hips together. Draco snaked his hands down Harry's body; sliding them past the hem of his shirt to caress the skin beneath, then moving on to grasp the curves of his hips. He tugged Harry down even closer; even the scant millimeters of cloth between them were too much space.

Soft moans, wet kisses and a heat that had nothing to do with temperature filled the boys' universe in the minutes that followed, and when they came-- all loud cries and grasping hands-- it wasn't at the same time, but it was together, and that was all that really mattered.

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"I told you it would be disgusting."

"We could have just used 'scourgify', and we wouldn't be in this situation."

"That's cheating."

"... And this is more fun, anyway."

"True," Harry agreed, wrapping his arms around Draco's torso, which he found rather appealing when both bare and wet at the same time. Well, he found it appealing all the time, really, but... watching the rivulets of water run from the ends of that blond hair, past thin-but-muscular shoulders and down his lithe frame was strangely hypnotic.

"What did I say about this?" Harry could hear Draco rolling his eyes. "We're not going to get out of here if you keep doing that."

"Maybe that was the plan?" Harry returned, adding a hopeful note of suggestion that was flatly turned down.

"No. Maybe later. Right now, I'm hungry. You made me miss breakfast." Draco was beginning to understand the Weasel's concern- this "missing breakfast" thing was worse than he'd thought.

"You weren't complaining at the time." Harry pointed out, in perfectly reasonable and factual fashion. Draco scowled at him.

"Well, I am now. Orgasms are lovely, but right now I want sausages."

Harry laughed.

"Well, if you hadn't fallen asleep, we wouldn't have gotten our pajamas stuck to us, and we might've made it down in time for breakfast."

"Oh, shut it. You fell asleep, too." Harry couldn't argue with that, so he did the next best thing. He dropped a kiss on the soft place where Draco's neck met his shoulder, right below the cord of the choker, then stepped out of the shower and wrapped his towel around his waist.

"Finish up, and I'll get you your sausages."

Draco smiled.

"Alright."

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"At least we're close to the same size." Draco conceded, turning and twisting before the mirror so that he could examine how well Harry's jeans accentuated his finely shaped rear-end. They seemed to pass muster, though Harry thought the cutest part of the ensemble was how the pants were so long that only Draco's toes were visible, and he nearly tripped when his heels caught on the material.

"Why do you care, anyway? It's not like anyone can see what you're wearing under your robes." Harry pointed out, sprawling back on his bed as he waited for Draco to select a shirt.

"Where's the green one?" The blond muttered, pawing through Harry's trunk in his search for couture that fit his standards- apparently nothing did, though a good eighty percent of the items had been picked out by Draco himself ("For _you_," had been his defense, and at that point Harry decided it was best to give up).

"You stole the green one."

"I did?" Draco was the picture of innocence.

"Yes. You did. I think there's a black shirt in there that you shrunk on purpose."

"Would I do that?"

"Yes."

"...No comment... Oh. This one? This was too big on you." Draco justified, feeling no need for an apology.

"Well, now it's too small on me. Put it on, I'm getting hungry."

"It does look good on me." Draco observed, looking in the mirror again.

"Good, then we can go." Harry sat up, and hopped off the bed.

"I don't have any robes."

Harry paused.

"Well, you can use my spare set until you can find time to grab yours. If we don't hurry, we're not going to have time to eat before we have to get to class."

"You have _Gryffindor_ robes. I'm not wearing Gryffindor robes." He crossed his arms and tried to look imposing. It didn't precisely work, as it's hard for one to look imposing in pants that are two sizes too big for them.

"Then transfigure the crest. I don't care." Harry shrugged. "I'll just turn it back later."

"What about my Prefect's badge?" Harry sighed.

"What about it? You have to go back to your room before class, anyway," he replied lazily.

"And why would that be?"

"Well, I assumed you wanted to bring your _books_ to Transfiguration, but I could have been wrong."

"Oh. Sorry." Draco actually did have the grace to look somewhat apologetic for being so snappish, but only somewhat. Harry gave him a soft smile.

"Come on. I promised you sausages, right?" He tossed the balled-up invisibility cloak at Draco, then pointed at his extra robes, which had been tossed haphazardly on the end of the bed. "Put them on, and let's go."

"Fine, fine."

Draco could be quick, when he wanted to be. Harry grabbed his bookbag and followed the rapidly-disappearing blond out of the dormitory and into the school proper.

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"You know, I should probably leave some of my clothes in your room, if this is going to keep happening." Draco commented as Harry set about tickling the appropriate pear in the painting that led to the kitchens.

"Probably. If you keep stealing mine, I'll be left wearing my pajamas to class." He waited for the pear to stop squirming, then turned the handle and entered the kitchen, with Draco following on his heels. He had already removed the invisibility cloak- it wasn't needed except for getting out of Gryffindor Tower. In retrospect, Harry wondered whether he shouldn't have made Draco keep it on.

The house elves who worked in the kitchen were busily cleaning up after the morning's breakfast, scrubbing and cleaning and putting all the pots back in their places. Most of them didn't spare a glance at the two students who entered. One, though, certainly did. Harry had barely gotten through the entranceway when an odd little voice cried out over the din;

"Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is very pleased to see Harry Potter! What can- aahhh!" Harry barely had time to catch sight of the diminutive figure of the house elf before he was gone again, hiding behind one of the large preparation tables. Only the top few of his multitude of layered hats were visible above the edge. Harry turned around, wondering what it was that had scared Dobby, then realized his tremendous error.

Signaling to Draco to stay back, Harry slowly approached Dobby's hiding place.

"Dobby? It's okay, I promise. He's not going to hurt you."

"Dobby knows that boy. That's Dobby's old master's boy! He's no good! He should not be near Harry Potter!" Dobby was shaking now, though his voice held the edge of furiosity that it had held the few times Dobby had shown any backbone. Harry's mouth quirked up a little bit. While it would be fun to see Draco duke it out with a house elf, there didn't need to be any more animosity built up between these two.

"Dobby, _listen_ to me." Harry held a hard gaze on the house elf until he looked back, and not at Draco's feet (all that was visible of him from Dobby's vantage point below the table). "He's not going to hurt you. He's my friend now." Dobby's already comically-large eyes widened further.

"The Malfoy boy is Harry Potter's friend?" The house elf seemed to be trying to wrap his mind around this statement. If there were two things that didn't fit together in Dobby's worldview, they were Malfoys and Harry Potter. Harry nodded encouragingly.

"That's right. He's my friend, and _we_ were wondering if we could get some food? We missed breakfast." No sooner had these words passed Harry's lips than Dobby was off, hustling about the kitchen to bring them two plates loaded with eggs, toast and jam, and Draco's sausages. Twin goblets of orange juice soon followed, as did chairs next to the nearest preparation table (which, Harry noted with some amusement, corresponded to the Hufflepuff table above).

"Is there anything else Dobby can get for Harry Potter and his... friend?" Dobby was still eyeing Draco with suspicion, which wouldn't have been nearly as funny if Draco hadn't been stuffing his mouth full of scrambled eggs at the time.

"No, we're fine. Thank you, Dobby." Harry smiled graciously at their small host, meanwhile viciously elbowing Draco in the side.

"Eh? Oh. Ank oo."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"And here I thought you Malfoys were supposed to have such excellent manners. Tsk." Harry put on his most disappointed face, earning him a withering glare from the blond, who finally swallowed before responding.

"We do. But I'm hungry, and I'm eating while the eggs are still hot, thank you very much." Draco sniffed, then turned his attention to the house elf, who was still hovering by Harry's side. Dobby looked at once suspicious and terrified, and Draco smiling at him was probably doing more harm than good. "This is very good. Thank you," he stated, then dove right back into his breakfast. Dobby looked patently shocked.

"Do you have any more sausage, please?" Draco asked a moment later, having polished off what he was given in record time. Dobby hopped to attention.

"Dobby will get you more, Mr. Malfoy, sir! Anything for a friend of Harry Potter!" He scampered off, nearly losing his topmost hat in the process. Harry chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Harry shook his head, and Draco looked even more confused.

_They always did call them 'magic words'._ Harry smiled, and kept the joke to himself as Draco was distracted by another serving of sausages.

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"So, go get your stuff and I'll see you in Transfiguration." Harry was saying as he shoved the invisibility cloak down into his bookbag. Draco was fidgeting.

"Weren't we going to talk about... that stuff... this morning?" He looked mildly annoyed, though whether it was at Harry or at both of them for forgetting, Harry couldn't be sure.

"I guess." Harry shrugged. "We can talk later. I mean, we have almost all the time in the world, right?" He tapped the rune on his new choker to illustrate his point.

"I suppose you're right." Draco agreed, still fidgeting. He took a glance back over his shoulder, and Harry's gaze followed. A little too well, it seemed, because he didn't see the kiss coming until Draco's mouth was on his.

"See you in class." Draco waved as he jogged away down the hall, leaving a soundly-kissed and rather happy Harry standing in front of the painting of the fruit bowl.

'I could get to like Wednesdays.' Harry grinned as he set off down the corridor towards Professor McGonagall's classroom.

**Tbc...**

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**A/N:** Okay, now we get to my chattering on about things. How'd you like it? #worries# It's my first bit of semi- boy!smut, so tell me if it sucks! I would really appreciate constructive criticism. #bows#

I know, I said in my blog that there would be plot, but I gave up on that for this chapter. I can worry about plot later. I did several chapters of plot, so this chapter is a total fluff break. :)

This chapter is dedicated to **Soleil Fonce** and **AbigaleSnitche**, for their kind beta of my semi-smut. Yep, that's right, people. If you email me directly, you get to see the good stuff early. Thanks, guys! #gives many cookies#

**REVIEW RESPONSES! _(If you're confused about anything, reading these is a good idea! Direct questions asked in a review will usually get a response, so ask away!)_**

**Padfoot da Great**: Hm. I don't know about you, but my friends and I found LOTS of cute guys who we thought might be getting it on in their spare time (side effect of Catholic school, I think). Anyway, the "cute thing" was just the "hair flop/look at Harry" routine that Hermione noticed. It's back in... Chapter 22. Yep, that's it. No big surprises, I'm afraid. Just more of me being able to make a single day into two or three chapters. Does anyone mind that? I mean, I sort of worry that this is moving too slowly, but then I don't think it is... Feedback appreciated!

**Alice Midnight**: yay! twins! So, James Frederick is one, you name the other. :) As to the sofa:

_**Let me explain the sofa**_. It has come to my attention, during my years of life, that girls' bathrooms rock, and boys' bathrooms suck. I am friends with many males, and they have all confirmed this point. Ginny and Hermione's "gossip spot" is based on the anteroom of one of the women's bathrooms at my old high school. It featured two sofas (but the one was really old and tiny and no one sat on it), a coffee table which was generally used to hold fake flowers, _Better Homes and Gardens_, a few issues of _Cosmo_, and a random Harlequin Romance novel (which changed randomly, and for no apparent reason). The men's bathroom was lucky if it was issued soap. There was a similar situation at a church I attended, and at the School District building for my county. I checked with guys in these places- the men's bathroom didn't have a couch, or a table, or in some cases, toilet paper. I find this extremely amusing, though I do feel sorry for the poor guys. However, I figured Hogwarts, being as obscenely normal as it is in these regards, would give the girls a sofa. _Cosmo_ was replaced with _Witch Weekly_, and there you have it. Sofa. Also, to note, the sofa is not IN the bathroom. It is, along with the table, in the ANTEROOM, which leads into the bathroom. All the anteroom has in it is the sofa, the table, the portrait, and a makeup counter (for putting on, not selling).

**Chibikuro Rose-Sama**: No, I didn't count them all! I used the "stats" feature for the story, which tells me, among other things, how many people have this on their Favorites lists. I just felt like number dropping, because I'm just so proud! I feel really honored that all those people decided they like this story enough to put it under "favorites", and wanted to thank everyone. So, I hope I'm less scary now.

**Dieu Anonyme**: Maybe a little insane. But I'll take 'brave and optimistic'. :)

**Parker07**: You registered just for me? #glomps!# Yay! I'm so glad you like it that much! I'm trying my best to keep it interesting as well as entertaining, so please keep reading! #bows#

**rainfall4me**: You recc'd me! I love you! #gives many cookies#


	29. Blaise Zabini

**A/N**: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I'm sorry this has been so long in coming, and I'll make these notes brief.

At the request of a reviewer (and because it just makes sense), I will no longer be including Review Responses here in my authors' notes. Instead, they will be available on my blog, which can be accessed on my website, **SolarDreamer** (Google it or go through my page here at FFNet). To make things easier, I _will_ include a list of reviewers who I've specifically responded to for each chapter, just so no one feels like I've wasted their time by making them go to my site if I haven't said anything to them. This should streamline things a bit, and put the focus back where it belongs: on the story. The Review Response List will be posted at the end of each chapter from now on.

**One Important Note to All**: They did _not_ have sex in the last chapter. Other... interesting... things, yes. Actual sex (defined by penetration), no. No blowjobs, either. Think hands. Much with hands. Everything else is too much fun to just _skip_, yanno? When it shows up, it will be written. In detail. On a site that is not FFNet. Thank You for Your Attention.

Thank you all for being so patient, and I hope you enjoy!

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**Chapter XXIX -- Blaise Zabini**

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The door of the Slytherin Sixth Year boys' dormitory shut with a click. Theodore Nott would not return from his shower for at least twenty-five minutes, perhaps more if there was a line.

"What's going on?"

Draco, half-finished with the process of dressing for bed and his mind somewhere much higher and on the other side of the castle, suddenly found himself cornered by a rather annoyed-looking Blaise Zabini. He blinked calm, grey eyes at the other Slytherin.

"What _ever_ do you mean, Zabini?" He returned, keeping an absolute poker face. Blaise scowled.

"I mean, where do you keep sneaking off to? We've been here three days, Draco. Three! And all three of those mornings, you have not woken up in this room. You may have Nott over there fooled, but not me! What, is it a girl or something? Because I'll cover for you, Draco, you know that, but I can't cover for you if I don't know where you _actually_ are!" Blaise's eyes were drilling holes in Draco's skull.

"It's not a girl." Draco cut off Blaise's rant before he could really get started. The other boy didn't stop staring him down, however.

"Then what is it? You have to- I mean, half the House was going insane this morning, when you didn't show up for breakfast! No one had seen you since last night, and no one saw you for half the morning! You can't _do_ that! You know you can't!" Blaise backed off just slightly, but not enough to let Draco escape. The blonde was _not_ getting off the hook, this time. "This House needs you. Not me, not Theo, not any of the girls. _You_. So you had better have an explanation for why you've been leaving." His dark eyes were staring into Draco's with more intensity than the blond could ever remember his housemate bothering to conjure up before. He was dead serious, and Draco knew it.

"It's _not_ a _girl_, Blaise." Draco shot him a very meaningful look, hoping that he would be quick enough to get it without Draco having to explain. The not-entirely-self-proclaimed King of the Slytherins was not stupid. Blaise already knew; he had made that much clear on the train several days before, even if he hadn't quite made the connection yet. He was just being thick. It took a moment for the entire point to sink in, and when it did, it showed clearly on the boy's face.

"Oh." Blaise backed off entirely, now, and sat down on the edge of the nearest bed (which, luckily enough, was his own). He wore a 'thinking' look for a moment, then broke out in a wide grin.

"You're shagging Harry Potter!" There was a high note of glee in his voice, promising a quick-moving rumor that would have the entire school talking and a column in Witch Weekly. Gone was the worried intensity, which fulfilled one of Draco's goals. This, however, was not much better.

Draco pounced before the other boy could get too happy, pressing him down against his comforter with a forearm across his throat. He put on his most threatening glare, and though Harry claimed it no longer worked on him, it certainly still worked on Blaise Zabini. Draco watched the boy's grin fade as he struggled for air.

"One:" he hissed, "I am _not_ 'shagging' Harry Potter. And if I was, it would still be none of your business! Two: If I hear _one_ word about anything I'm going to tell you out of someone else's face, you will _not_ be happy when I'm done with you. Are we clear?"

Blaise nodded, gasping as Draco released the pressure on his throat. It was, actually, quite rare that Draco was serious with his threats. Oh, he threatened, all right. But he also knew that injured or hexed followers were disgruntled followers. And disgruntled followers were worse than enemies. Draco threatened, but only to make a point. This time, however, Blaise could tell that the blond was ready-and-willing to carry out his threats.

All in all, this was looking to be quite the entertaining year for Blaise Zabini. He smiled a little to himself as Draco shut the door, then locked and silenced it magically. Blaise cackled silently to himself at the rumors that would be running around the common room tomorrow after the rest of the House saw Nott sitting outside a locked, silenced dormitory door.

"It started this summer..."

And though Blaise knew that _that_ was a whopping lie, he let Draco continue anyway.

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"Blaise knows."

"Ermf?" Harry mumbled into his pillow, staunchly ignoring the fact that morning was approaching. Draco kneed his thigh lightly beneath the covers, a little smile flitting across his face.

"I _said_ 'Blaise knows'. About this. Us."

Harry was awake, then, his green eyes wide.

"What?" He looked scandalized, and maybe a little betrayed. "You told Blaise _Zabini_?" Harry quite honestly couldn't believe it. He had thought that Draco understood the need for discretion about this. They hadn't ever really talked about it but... Draco's slender fingers threaded through the raven locks at Harry's temple; delicately, as in silent apology.

"I should have talked to you first. I'm sorry about that. But he had most of it worked out on his own, and he was getting suspicious about why I wasn't around in the mornings. You don't know Blaise, so just trust me that it's better for us this way. He's like a dog with a bone, if you leave him to it. Now that he knows, it'll be easier to deal with him. And he's not going to tell anyone else." Draco delivered the last line with enough determination in his voice that Harry worried exactly what methods he had used to gain that certainty. Harry sighed and wrapped his arm across Draco's waist, trailing his fingers across the top of his pajama pants and down to the dent at the base of his spine. Draco shivered.

"It's okay. I trust you." He murmured, loving the feeling of the soft skin beneath his fingers. "What does he know? Just this, or...?" He let the question trail off, not knowing precisely how to explain what he meant.

"None of that stuff." Draco murmured back, brushing his index finger over the choker around Harry's neck. Then his eyes narrowed playfully. "And what do you mean by '_just_ this', Potter?" Before Harry could even register the movement, Draco was lying flush on top of him, his platinum hair framing his face in Harry's vision. He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down on Harry with a mischievous grin.

"What do you _think_ I meant, _Mal_foy?" He grinned; a lopsided, little-boy grin that Draco found too adorable for words and too tempting not to kiss away. He lowered his lips to meet Harry's softly in a series of quick, light kisses. Harry's hand had found that _spot_ again, the one right above the cleft of his arse, and he knew that if they didn't stop soon they would be in no fit shape to go to breakfast, let alone to class after. That and the fact that one Ronald Weasley, currently snoring in the next bed, would probably wake the Tower with his screeching if he heard them. Draco's tongue dove into Harry's mouth, seeking its mate to touch and caress softly before retreating. He pulled away from Harry, admiring the slightly flushed look that graced his features and was probably mirrored in Draco's own.

"I have to go before..." He jerked his head in the general direction of the damned alarm clock. Harry nodded, though with obvious disappointment.

"Yeah." He leaned up to capture Draco's lips one more time before allowing the blond to roll off him and fish the invisibility cloak out from its new home in Harry's pillowcase. Harry sat up as Draco's body disappeared under it, its folds creating the odd sensation that only parts of Draco were there. He snagged part of the cloak in his hand just as Draco was about to open the hangings, pulling him back enough that Harry could lay one last kiss in the hollow where Draco's neck met his shoulder. "I'll see you at breakfast." He whispered, his lips moving against Draco's skin. The blond tilted his head and nuzzled Harry affectionately.

"Mm."

Then he was gone, the hangings swinging shut again behind him. Harry sighed and lay back down to await the cacophony of a Gryffindor morning.

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It is a curious fact of life that when one is spying on someone, they are far more likely to notice someone _else_ spying on someone than they would be if they had not been spying on anyone at all. Of course, a few spies are too wrapped up in what they are doing to notice, but sometimes their counterparts are not. That was the case on this particular Thursday morning.

'Girls are too obvious.' Such was Blaise Zabini's assessment. He had spent half of breakfast that morning watching the silent, across-the-room interaction between Draco and his Gryffindor boyfriend, and the other half watching the other two people who were watching the same pair. Granger and the Weasley girl had their heads together through a good portion of the meal, though what they could possibly have found to talk about, Blaise had no idea.

So far all he had seen the two engage in was a brief look when Draco walked through the doors of the Great Hall with his entourage and sporadic glances in each others' directions throughout the meal. Basically, he synthesized, exactly the same thing they had been doing for the past five years, just for a different reason. He was tempted to sigh, but held it in as such an action would raise Draco's suspicion, as well as alert the rest of the table to the fact that he was not simply staring into space but was actually thinking about something.

The next thing Blaise realized was that the two Gryffindor girls needed a lesson or two in covert operations. They had quite obviously never had to spy on someone seriously before- listening at doors and walls with your ear to a glass was all well and good in Nancy Drew books (which, incidentally, Blaise would never admit to having read, _ever_), but as you got older it became more and more important that you knew how to observe a target properly, secretly. And besides, without such skills you would never have blackmail on anyone, and then how would your homework ever get done?

The mail arrived, then, distracting everyone in the Great Hall with the rush of wings overhead. Draco's owl (which he had quite proudly shown off in the Common Room in their first evening back) swooped in to land on Draco's outstretched arm, hooting affectionately as he removed the note from its leg and fed it a piece of his bacon as a reward. Satisfied, Zephyr nipped at Draco's fingers and then took off again for the owlery, leaving Draco to read his note. Blaise watched with some interest as Draco smiled- actually _smiled_, not a smirk or that self-satisfied look he got sometimes- and slipped the note into his bag.

Blaise Zabini now had two ideas. One was rather simple. The other required finesse. Both were probably necessary. Blaise Zabini was going to have a fun time, indeed.

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	30. Lucky Charms

**A/N:** Hi! I know, I bet you all thought I was dead or something, right? I know, I know! I'm very sorry, and I hope this chapter makes up for it. I had wicked writers' block, combined with starting college this fall, and I guess the writing sort of fell by the wayside for a while. However, in his usual fashion, my muse first inspired some Golden Sun randomness, then switched gears to get me jazzed about this fic again! #glomps muse# So, please forgive the long wait! I'll try to write more quickly in the future. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this fic! I love you all, and I know I would have given up on this a long time ago if I didn't have all your support and encouragement!

There won't be any review responses this chapter, but please continue to Read and Review!

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Chapter XXX -- Lucky Charms

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Draco had enjoyed breakfast immensely. Of course, he had now traded Blaise's suspicious looks for Blaise's knowing and calculating looks, but those were far easier to handle. Of course, waking up next to Harry probably helped a bit with his mood, Draco would admit. And the note had been a nice touch. A touch that he'd been all-too-happy to respond to during Transfiguration that morning with one of his trademark folded-crane notes.

Harry, sitting in front of Draco, didn't see the thing until it was past the catching stage, and instead watched it hit the desk with rather less grace than he expected. Of course, paper cranes weren't exactly built for landing softly, but he still found it funny --especially when he heard Draco's indignant huff and the scratching of his quill. He knew, somehow, that the next crane would land so beautifully it would make his eyes hurt. Until then, he rolled the eyes in question and unfolded the note.

There, in precise green script, was a single word. _No._

Harry resisted (just barely) the urge to turn around and smack his boyfriend with the slightly rumpled parchment. It was, after all, McGonagall's class. He was forced to make due with another roll of his eyes and the smile that the vaguely amused wear when they are trying not to smile.

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Lunch provided nothing more interesting than another opportunity for Blaise to remark (to himself, of course) that girls were really, _really_ bad at spying (Or maybe it was just Gryffindor girls; he really couldn't be sure).

Soon enough, lunchtime was long gone, and Harry was on his way to Charms-- with Ron and without Draco, and for the first time in his years at Hogwarts he was regarding that as a Very Bad Thing. So much so that Ron must have thought that he wasn't prepared for class, as he kept offering to tell Flitwick that Harry was sick.

In actuality, Harry _was_ prepared for class. With what had happened to Draco while learning the same spell they would be covering today, he had spent extra time going over the section in their textbook that covered it. He hadn't known exactly what he was looking for- after all, it wasn't the detection spell that had done... whatever it was that had been done to Draco. It had simply revealed it. And anyway, the professors didn't have a clue what it was, so Harry doubted he'd have any luck at all. Nevertheless, he had read and reread, and found absolutely nothing other than a funny (in a vaguely horrifying way) anecdote about some lady from Sussex.

"- then he tells me he wants to date Ginny! My _sister_! Can you believe that, Harry?" Ron was saying something, Harry suddenly realized, though he had really no idea what the diatribe had been about.

"What?" Harry asked, slightly bewildered.

"Exactly! That's exactly what I said!" Ron was off again. "I mean, _Dean_? He's alright and all, but dating my _sister_?"

Oh. That was what Ron was jabbering about. Harry tuned him out, not really wanting to listen and not having the heart to tell Ron that Dean was already dating his sister, and had been for nearly half a year.

By the time Professor Flitwick began talking -- explaining procedure for the period and so on -- Ron had run out of ways to be outraged, for which Harry was grateful. It wasn't that he didn't care who Ginny dated -- he did. She had become as much a sister to him as she was to Ron, in many ways. It was just that he didn't see why Ron had so much of a problem with Ginny dating _Dean_. It was pretty silly, in his opinion. After all, they had known the other boy for more than five years now; it wasn't as if she was running off to elope with some stranger. And anyway, Harry trusted Ginny's judgment of people's character. She was far from stupid, and fully capable of making her own decisions. He supposed that Ron would just have to get over it in his own time. Until then, he figured he'd send the youngest Weasley an owl or something, just to warn her to steer clear of all Dean-related discussion in front of her brother.

At the front of the room, Flitwick was still speaking, now finishing his remarks on the numerous ways in which detection spells were used, and the particular uses of the spell that was their subject today.

"If you'd all please line up along here! Yes, yes, that's it." Flitwick arranged them all in a line, and Harry felt an odd sense of deja-vu come over him as the professor made his way down the line of them, casting his test charm on each student. Harry shivered a little as the charm- whatever it was, Flitwick hadn't said- took hold. There was an odd feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach, and he didn't like it one bit. It felt far too much like dread, and Harry felt he already had quite enough to deal with already.

"You want to do me first?" Ron asked as they sat back down. Harry blinked. Oh, right. The Revealing Charm thing. He glanced down at his book again, making sure he knew the words and the accents correctly, then cast it in Ron's direction with a quick swish of his wand. Ron looked down at himself.

"I don't see anything. Are you sure you did it right?"

Harry nodded. Ron may not have been able to see anything, but he could. Flitwick's charm clung to the edges of Ron's form like a thick, dark, grey-blue mist. Flitwick, walking around supervising, could obviously see it too, as he rewarded Harry with a grin and a "Well done, Mr. Potter!" Ron just looked confused.

"But why can't I see it?" He was looking himself all over, now, peering at his hands and taking glances toward his feet and over his shoulders. Harry wondered if he was going to start chasing his tail, and had to hide a laugh.

"It says in the book that the one the spell's cast on can't see it, Ron. Don't worry about it." Harry assured, managing to halt Ron's desperate search for his spell-shadow. "Just go ahead and do mine so I can get started on the essay." Ron grimaced at the mention of homework, but did as instructed, borrowing Harry's book to check the words as he had neglected to mark the page in his own copy.

Ron's eyes widened as his mouth and wand hand dropped in unison, and Harry could feel a migraine forming. In fact, he could feel his entire day becoming more fun than a barrel of monkeys. Really.

"What is it, Ron?" Harry sighed. "Just tell me and get it over with."

The redhead tried to speak but no sound was coming out of his mouth, and Harry was beginning to become aware that they were gathering an audience. The nearly-a-migraine was gaining strength, finally exploding in its full grown form as Professor Flitwick approached, stopped, and pronounced his opinion.

"Oh, bugger." He sighed, looking even shorter than usual as he slumped slightly where he stood.

The few people who hadn't noticed Harry's condition certainly did now-- it wasn't every day that Professor Flitwick lost his permanently pleasant demeanor. Aware of the audience and the fact that the rumors grew with every second that the students remained in the presence of anything abnormal, Professor Flitwick was forced to end class early for the second time that week. This time, however, Blaise Zabini was the one hanging back, trying to catch another glimpse of the odd halo in the air around Harry Potter. He could tell, even if the other students hadn't made the connection yet, that this was related to what had happened to Draco earlier in the week. Whether he was pleased or displeased about it, he didn't know yet. But he certainly wasn't going to forget about it any time soon.

Once all the students had exited (Ron included, at Professor Flitwick's insistence and with Harry's apologetic gaze following him out the door), the professor led Harry to the same mirror in his office that Draco had looked in earlier that week. Harry looked, and his first reaction, much like Draco's, was that it was more than just a little cool to have a sparkling halo of silver-and-gold light all around you.

His second reaction fell somewhere between "oh, shit." and resignation to the fact that his life was destined to be weird, why should one little magical lightshow make a difference? He looked over to Professor Flitwick, who was wringing his hands nervously.

"Based on past experience, Mr. Potter, I feel that it would be unwise for me to attempt to remove the spell at the moment." He was saying as Harry studied the halo in the mirror. "It wouldn't do to have you crashing in amongst the first years that are out by Hagrid's right now, I believe, would it? No, of course not. Well. We'd best just take you to see the Headmaster, though I expect he already knows all about it."

Harry merely nodded, following the tiny professor out of the Charms classroom and through the castle to the large gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

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Harry emerged from Dumbledore's office some two hours later, after having been questioned and re-questioned by the combined forces of Dumbledore, Flitwick, McGonagall and even Professor Snape, who had been called in simply because he had been involved in the earlier events of the week. Harry had suffered through it, repeating what had seemed like a never-ending chorus of "I don't know".

_Do you have any idea what this spell is?_

_Do you have any idea how you or Mr. Malfoy could have had this spell cast upon you?_

Dumbledore's question -- if he had had any more strange dreams about Voldemort -- made Harry twitch slightly. Strange dreams, certainly. After all, it wasn't every day that your newest professor showed up in three forms and told you that you had to jump into some other dimension thing and save the world. Of course, considering the rest of his life, Harry figured that the scenario might even be considered 'tame' by comparison. But, as the dreams had little to do with Voldemort himself, Harry didn't feel badly about lying as he said "no".

Harry was rather sick of the whole thing, by the time they reluctantly released him to his dinner, and was nearly beyond caring about the spell, whatever it was. He knew that it was reckless, stupid, and would probably come back to bite him in the arse, but whatever it was didn't seem to be doing him or Draco any actual _harm_. In fact, he decided, a slightly wicked grin painting his face, they had never been better.

He managed to slip into the Great Hall relatively unnoticed. He was late, anyway, and most of the students had already dispersed back to their dorms or other evening activities. Hermione and Ron were still at the Gryffindor table, though, and Harry quickly joined them.

"Harry!" Hermione's face lit up as he approached, and he could see Ron try to hide a glower. Harry wanted to laugh. If it meant that much to him, Harry didn't see why he didn't just ask Hermione out, already. She had been dropping hints for months. At the moment, however, she seemed far too involved in making sure that Harry was in one piece to be worried about what Ron was thinking.

"Are you sure you're alright, Harry?" His nod did absolutely nothing to convince her that he wasn't going to keel over at any moment. "What was that spell? It certainly looked interesting; I was there when that all happened with Draco, you remember. Ron told me all about it, and it certainly sounds similar, maybe even identical. I wonder what it could be? You know, silver and gold are both such rare colors to get with the charm Professor Flitwick was showing us." Harry's ears pricked at that. The professors had gone on and on about the spell, but hadn't actually told him anything about what they were talking about, only that they didn't know what it was.

"Really?" He inquired, mixing his mashed potatoes with his fork idly as he finally tuned in to what Hermione was saying. She looked surprised.

"Well, yes. I thought you knew. I mean, you were doing all that looking into it after what happened with Draco..." She trailed off, looking at Harry expectantly and ignoring Ron's look of shock and perhaps horror that Harry had been at all interested in whatever had happened to Draco Malfoy.

Harry shrugged, a little sheepishly. "I read what was in the Charms textbook, but I didn't really look beyond that."

"Here." Hermione dug a book out of the bulging sack of them that she always carried around, laying it with a slight 'thump' on the table. "It has whole sections devoted to identifying various types of spells by the colors and textures of the auras they produce." She explained. Harry picked it up, mindful of his goblet of pumpkin juice.

_"Basic Home Spell Detection: Keep Your Family Safe!_"Harry read aloud, quirking an eyebrow as he looked at Hermione incredulously. She blushed slightly.

"Well, it's helpful! I read about that poor woman, Mrs. Millberry, and I couldn't help thinking about the way wizards tend to just throw spells around all the time. I thought it might be useful to read up on the subject. Did you know that over two-thirds of wizards never even _check_ for existing spells on objects before enchanting them?"

Ron and Harry exchanged a surreptitious look, sighing in tandem as they realized that there was no way they were avoiding Hermione's latest lecture. Harry tucked the book away as Hermione's voice washed over them, casting a quick look at the Slytherin table and idly wondering why it was so empty.

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Any Slytherin, of course, could tell you why the table was so empty. There were only about four of them remaining in the Great Hall, though, all First Years who for one reason or another had never flown on a broom before. The rest -- First Years through Sixth Years, whether they liked it or not -- had been ordered by their Prefect to report to the Quidditch pitch immediately after they finished eating in order to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

About an hour into the proceedings, Draco had culled that group down to about twelve he thought might be decent enough, sending the others (all of whom were either annoyed at being forced to come out in the first place or distraught at the fact that they hadn't made the team but hiding it by acting annoyed, too) back to the dormitory to wash up.

The rest, standing huddled together facing the pacing bundle of tension and energy that was Draco Malfoy.

"Alright. We already know I'm Seeker, so if any of you were holding out for that position, give it up now." Draco scanned the little group with coldly calculating eyes. Blaise barely resisted the urge to snigger at the way the lone Second Year among them cowered slightly. "Now then," Draco continued, "Pansy, you'll be Keeper, if you don't mind."

Pansy Parkinson smiled flirtatiously at him. "_Any_thing for you, Draco." She cooed, earning her a roll of Draco's grey eyes. Despite all, Draco knew she was proud that he thought enough of her to give her the spot. And, privately, he thought she was probably better for it than the idiot who'd held the spot before.

"Millie?" Millicent Bulstrode nodded, knowing exactly what was going to be asked of her.

"Excellent." Draco gave a little self-satisfied grin. "Now, which of those among you would like to try for the other Beater position?" A hefty Fourth Year and a couple of the bigger Third Years raised tentative hands, and were quickly sent off with Millicent, who would try them out herself. Draco had full confidence in her ability to choose the best partner. As for the rest...

"Well, then." Draco's grin split even wider, and the poor Second Year suddenly understood real fear. "Blaise will now run the rest of you through some basic Chaser drills. Pansy?" He had no sooner spoken her name than the girl was on her broom and circling the goal hoops at the end of the field opposite where Millicent was working with her Beater candidates. "I will, of course, be watching. After you've all worked for a while, we'll decide who's staying." His piece said, Draco mounted his broom and took off, flying up to Pansy to refresh her on her instructions.

"You know, Draco," She looked up at him through slightly lowered eyelids, "I couldn't help noticing what a _lovely_ broom that is. New?" She winked, and Draco realized that she'd figured it out. He managed to remain unfazed as he winked back.

"You could say that."

He made a mental note to purchase a broom exactly like this one to replace his old one, which was currently collecting dust in his room back at Malfoy Manor, and which he had no compulsion to retrieve. Harry's Firebolt flew like a dream.

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A/N- Yes, I meant not to tell you what the original note said. You'll find out soon enough. Also, yes, Draco totally nicked Harry's broom. Well, he does have that distressing habit of just leaving his broom in the broom shed with everyone else's... Besides, you're entitled to nick your boyfriend's stuff from time to time, right? I sure hope so... Well, please Read and Review! You know I love all you guys!


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